Mental Quicksand
by SkyeMoor
Summary: Hermione knows there's no possible reason for Draco Malfoy to want to be her secretary. What are his ulterior motives?
1. Dastardly Plans shall have to wait

**[author's note: please read and review this one if you like it (otherwise, I'll write something else). I promise Draco's reasons will be _interesting_ , to say the very least. Do note the genre, if you missed it.]**

Ron was right. Hermione Granger _hated_ when Ron was right. But she really wasn't going to get all the forms submitted on time if she didn't hire someone to help with the paperwork. And that, in of itself, was a problem. She didn't have _time_ to train someone. Pacing in her office, she looked down at the pile of resumes. She didn't have time for interviews, _either_. Her intensive study of werewolf/human relations needed to be complete, and on time, and submitted to the Wiesgamot for their next meeting. Which was in six weeks. She had all the research done, now it was just... paperwork. But, but, but, there was a lot of paperwork.

Hence the secretary.

Hermione had succumbed to peer pressure, allowing Ron and Harry to go through the _enormous_ pile of resumes, confidentiality be damned. The boys knew what she'd do if they spilled the beans. Ron had been oddly helpful, even... calling the interviewees with a date and time.

The first contestant was a head-in-the-clouds Ravenclaw. Well, former Ravenclaw. While Hermione had no doubt that Clara could do the work, she knew the lass lacked focus, and she'd have to force the twit to pay attention. Let alone the time required to train her. Ravenclaws had a thousand questions, and only half of them were likely to be germane, and less than that were useful. Hermione kept asking the written questions, but after the first three longwinded answers, she only listened with half an ear.

The second contestant was Astoria Greengrass. She was always _nice_ ... for a Slytherin, of course. Mentally, Hermione asked herself if "Tori" had by any chance put a photo of herself with her resume. Hermione couldn't think of any possible reason why the boys would have recommended her otherwise. She looked like she didn't have a scrap of work ethic, and clearly didn't need the work. When asked (breaking the prepared question), why she wanted to work for Hermione, Tori had merrily giggled, and said, "Well, I wanted to get out of the house - and the opportunity to work with you was so priceless, I couldn't turn it down." Great, lovely. The boys had gotten her a personal fangirl for a pet. Thinking this was Harry's revenge for some of her comments on the girls (and boys) running after him, Hermione put it out of her mind, straightening her desk while she waited for the next candidate.

And behind door number three? Draco Malfoy of all people. Bracing herself mentally, Hermione stayed perfectly still (in the strange, crunkled up position she had before Malfoy had stepped into her view. Her back was bent, and she was looking down at some papers). **_What_** had the boys been _thinking_?

Draco Malfoy had stepped into Hermione's office, his most insouciant grin on his face. Granger hadn't noticed, her face buried in some papers - probably his resume. Very well, Malfoys were never caught that far offguard. Taking a graceful step backward, he knocked. Granger looked up, catching a brief hint of uncertainty in his expression.

"Oh, do come in. I suppose you're here for the interview?" Granger said, thinking in colorful terms exactly how stupid that sounded. Of _course_ he was here for the interview. _Harry and Ron_ had invited him!

"Of course."

"Then come in and sit down, I haven't got all day." Granger said crisply.

Granger noted, with grudging approval, that Malfoy had the grace to sit straight, and the presence of mind to bring a notebook. _Already_ he's better than the two other candidates. And it clicked. Harry and Ron had _set this up_ , so that she'd have to hire Draco Malfoy. Hermione saw red, and although it takes considerably more force to break a fountain pen than a quill, Hermione more than managed, spilling a vast quantity of ink... right onto Malfoy's resume. Well, no matter.

Covering her mistake, Granger asked about Malfoy's experience, listening with half an ear while she rustled around for a pen.

Draco knew she wasn't listening - too busy trying to find a pen. (Had she _really_ been _that_ upset with him sitting down that she had broken a metal cylinder?) Halfway through what he was saying, Draco suddenly broke off and tapped Granger on the shoulder. "here" he said coldly, passing her a quill and ink. Granger looked up at him as if she was expecting the ink to be poisoned or something. "You really should pay attention if you're going to bother giving interviews..." he said with a smirk. "Here's a spare copy" he continued with a smug smile, passing her another copy of his resume.

"Oh, why bother? We both know you haven't any relevant experience." Granger said with an icy smile.

"Touche" Draco responded, and the rest of the prepared questions continued in similar fashion, on occasion with Draco surprising Granger, on other occasions Hermione taking Malfoy to task.

With a sigh, Hermione set her overly inked page down, and _looked_ at Malfoy. He'd been decent with the rest of the questions, truthfully. But this, this she had to know.

"What are you doing here? We both know that you have enough money that you needn't work as a secretary... Do you have some sort of nefarious plan?" Granger's eyes burned as she put the question to Draco.

Fighting back the urge to swallow, Draco simply smiled, saying, "Of course I have unspeakable and ineffable plans, I was a Slytherin, after all..."

Standing up and leaning over her desk, Granger asked tightly, "And will you tell me what exactly these plans entail?"

With an impudent smirk, Draco responds with a simple, "No."

"Six weeks." Granger said, her temper obviously fighting her iron control, as Draco raised an eyebrow. "Project's due in six weeks, and I haven't time to train anyone. You'll pick this job up, and with minimal guidance. And your dastardly plans shall have to wait."

You'd have to be blind to miss the strain Granger was under, and Draco was far from blind. As if he was giving up something, rather than gaining it, he said indifferently, "Very well."

"Then you have the job. Congratulations, Mister Malfoy, you'll make a wonderful secretary."


	2. Mildly Shocked, perhaps a bit Disturbed

Wait, that worked? Draco thought, as he left the room, having signed the innummerable documents (oh, fine 53) to get hired. Had he been a more demonstrative man, he'd have clicked his heels together and jumped with glee. But Malfoys did not jump for glee, so he settled for an irrepressible smirk, which said to all and sundry, _I know something you don't know..._

Seriously, he had had nine backup plans for this, each more elaborate than the last. The last one was _literally_ hiring away anyone Granger would consent to hire, and badgering her until she agreed to hire him. And this when he knew she was on a deadline. It would have been _perfect_. Well, it would have worked, at any rate. No matter that Granger would have been steamed as hell at him.

Besides, it wasn't like he couldn't do the work. Menial labor, he thought. Keeping paperwork organized, general go-for work, and doing the basic welcoming rituals. At that thought he paused, letting the elevator go in the midst of his thoughts. What exactly had she meant by that? For that matter, in what way shape or form did she think he could resemble a gopher? And what work did a gopher do, anyway? Some sort of digging?

Still, this called for a bit of a celebration. Perhaps some ice cream.

* * *

Hermione had 500 more things to do tommorrow, because she had cleared her slate for today. But that was okay. Hermione had a Mission: She was off to kill her best friends. They hadn't even as much as told her!

Her eyes crackling, and her hair popping, Hermione Granger stepped into the floo, heading for Harry Potter's house...

Harry and Ron were on the couch, when the floo flared green. Turning their heads towards the fireplace, they only had a split second to see Hermione On The Warpath, before their combat reflexes kicked in, sending both of them sprawling on the floor, using the couch itself as cover. ** Lacking a visible target, Hermione decided to go for verbal assault instead - which was the practical reason why they had dived for cover in the first place.

"Harry! Ron! What the HELL were you bloody thinking? Dropping Draco Malfoy on me, with no warning?! As My Secretary?!"

Ron was foolish enough to think he wouldn't get hurt, after all, Hermione loved him. "Blimey, Hermione, weren't you just saying -"

And then he was flat on his belly, the wordless spell trussing him to the floor in an awkward hogtie.

"You HID this from me! You deliberately sent me into this BLIND. What's more, you ROBBED me of choices!"

From safely behind the couch, the wiser Harry Potter said, "You've still got us!"

"What do you mean?" Hermione hissed, and Harry squirmed closer to the couch, hoping she wouldn't start throwing lightning bolts blind.

"We could do what you need us to do...it's just a couple of weeks..." More like six, but who's counting between friends?

"That's not the POINT! I thought I could count on my FRIENDS to not ambush me. You KNOW what kind of stress I've been under."

"Hermione, I'm sorry, we tried to do what we thought was best..." Ron whined, unsuccessfully.

Harry, having finally gotten his breath back, pulled himself into a low crouch. No need to take chances, after all. "He was the best candidate, Hermione."

"And how was I supposed to know that? you only gave me three! And I KNOW you handpicked the others, because even a blind three legged stoat would be better than the rest!"

"You're exaggerating..." Weasley muttered.

"I HATE Surprises! You KNOW that, or if you were REALLY my friends you'd know that." Hermione said, the wind starting to go out from under her sails.

Weasley shifted uncomfortably, and then Harry did the exact same thing. They both knew what happened after angry Hermione. Particularly when she was mad with both of them. It wasn't pleasant.

Potter tried his best Hermione-voice, "Can you calm down and we'll discuss this like rational people?"

Hermione snapped back, "We could have, had you told me _yesterday_."

Harry responded, "Still, I'd rather not talk to my two best friends lying flat on my belly in front of the couch. It's rather... unmanly, don't you think?"

Weasley simply studied Hermione, who was starting to take deeper breaths. She was calming down, and not going to pieces... yet. That was good. They had been doing this for her, after all.

Harry smiled and said, "Here, I'll get pizza!" Leaping to his feet as if he hadn't been afraid she'd hex off his anatomy. "What toppings do you want?"

Hermione snapped back, "Extra cheese, and you're paying."

Harry looked a bit confused and asked, "And Ron?"

Hermione responded, "He can have two vegan pizzas. You'll have one with anchovies. Fair's fair." And Hermione curled up on the sofa with her nice new book, and didn't bother untying Ron until the pizza arrived.

**yes, they were in battle. yes, they trained for battle. yes, they know how to dive for cover when a rampaging Hermione appears. Also, they were sort of expecting it.


	3. The Best Choice

Hermione grabbed a beer, cracking the lid on the dresser beside her, and staring crossly at Ron and Harry. She quaffed about half of it before saying another word, her eyes boring holes into their faces. "I have to deal with him tomorrow, you know that?"

Harry's eyes widened slightly, and Ron looked at her for a moment, puzzled, and then he dropped his pizza, right into his lap. Harry started guffawing, the way he did when something turns out unexpectedly well. "You...you... you hired him! Bloody hell, I thought we'd have to talk you into it."

Oblivious to Hermione's offended glare, Ron laughed, saying, "Yeah, we had plans and everything..."

"WHY? Why would you do this to me!? You know how much I loathe him! He is a repulsive slimeball without an ounce of manners or upbringing."

Harry looked at his best friend with an amused smirk, and said, "Tell us how you _really_ feel..."

She turned the air blue with her words.

* * *

Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy was lying on his bed, on his back, his head completely off the bed (hair dangling nearly to the floor), as he read the contract above him. For the third time. He couldn't get it through his head. _How_ was he the best choice for this job? He wasn't exactly known for being a good paperpusher - most people assumed he knew how to slither through documents like his old man always had, bribing and cajoling, coercing and occasionally blackmailing to get to the top. He had been pretty well known as a womanizer _thanks Pansy, luv ya bunches_. But this? This had to be the most boring, stupid, unnecessary job ever. Granger must be desperate, that was the only conclusion he could come to. Well, that and, he obviously had outcompeted the poor loser leaving just before him. Unless... maybe he was the last choice? Maybe she had foolishly said no to everyone before he had come in?

He was going to serve her coffee tomorrow. That, and keeping papers organized, and greeting visitors. _That_ was his new job. It was also thoroughly humiliating.

[a/n: Draco hasn't heard of a standard contract, or a standard job description.]

* * *

"You needed someone, Hermione." Ron said, suddenly, his earnest tone catching at her heartstrings, and tugging her to unwilling silence.

"Yeah, if it wasn't him, it was going to be us!" Harry said, "We couldn't leave you alone with that mess..."

"But we're rubbish at paperwork." Ron continued. Hermione added silently that at least they did their own paperwork these days, and she thought suddenly that it was rather poor form for her to be imposing more onto them.

Hermione was just about to give her boyfriend and best friend a warm hug, when Ron - as always - spoiled it, "Besides, you are his _boss_. Haven't you wanted to have a little fun? Just once?"

"Ronald Weasley! I just wanted him gone. Away. anywhere but in front of my office, for the next six weeks!"

"Six weeks?" Harry said, looking up in a bit of concern. "You're just going to fire him like that?"

Hermione's tone was frigid, "Whatever he's up to, he'll pull it then if he knows what's good for him. I have three reports due in the next six weeks, and if he puts one thing out of place and loses me time, he'll wish he was never born." And that was hardly an idle threat. From the looks of her two friends, they knew it, too. Releasing a sigh of "oh good, she's not sparks in her hair mad" the boys slowly relaxed.


	4. Shine my shoes

Draco Malfoy deliberately arrived five minutes early - on the dot. He was wearing ash gray robes, and looked... about as demure as it was possible for a Malfoy. Stepping into the department, he strode towards Granger's office, nodding curtly at all the looks he was getting. Apparently some ministry employees cared about scandal rags like Witch Weekly. Absentmindedly, he categorized them based on their coloration and 3 sizes. Never hurt to know who you were dealing with, after all, and someone predisposed to liking him could _always_ come in handy. He could even gain some sympathy points if his boss decided to yell at him. But these idle thoughts played over two deeper trains of thought - one about the runes he had in his briefcase, and the other about his newest job. Granger was someone who was difficult to read, but, Draco Malfoy thought that arriving early would be a way to get on her good side.

Stepping towards the office where he had interviewed earlier, he frowned, looking at the presence of an untamed Granger, huffing around and rustling various and sundry mails and bustling up more forms. Judging by the lack of coiffure, she's been there at least three hours already. And here he thought he'd be early for once! To impress her. So much for that, he thought with a snort. Peeking a head into the office beside hers, he asked the young lad in there, "How long's Granger been in today?"

"Two hours, maybe? She's always here early" the laconic response of a Hufflepuff still reading his first memorandum of the day...

Malfoy cradled his head in his hand, for a moment, leaning against the doorframe, before he straightened himself. He strolled into Granger's office with swift sure strides, rapping on the door with his hand, loud enough to be clear but not so loud as to get hexed for startling his boss. She looked at him, half bleary eyed - had she been _drinking_? And blinked, shaking her head, "Coffee" she said simply, as she plopped herself down onto her chair and spun around, still reading whatever document had caught her attention.

Malfoy strolled away to get coffee, completely unruffled at his boss's demeanor, at least on the outside. Inside, he was chasing about ten different thoughts, each one more elusive than the next. By the time he had added three sugars and a dollop of cream to both mugs, he shook his head mentally. Useless to think about things when she'd undoubtedly sort them better by the time he got back. Just for insurance, he poured a cup of black coffee as well, and holding all three, carefully ambled back to Granger's desk.

Meanwhile, Granger was trying to sort out what Malfoy was _doing_... She hadn't actually expected him to go off to get coffee (although surely he wouldn't use a house elf to do his work for him... not if he knew what was good for him). But he had been quiet, not even a roll of his eyes, and she had been quietly watching him through a small security glass near the window. Really, it wasn't that she didn't expect him to do his job, just that she thought it would come with some traditional bitching. Malfoy's pride and being a go-fer seemed mutually incompatible, an incendiary combination. Whatever he's up to, Granger contemplated, spinning round in her chair again, it's got to be major. Granger put it out of her mind entirely, as Malfoy faded in interest compared to her latest revision of a treatise on proposed werewolf rights.

Draco Malfoy had three cups of coffee in two hands. Ergo, he did not have a hand free to knock on the (open) door. Standing there, waiting, wasn't his style, so he rather awkwardly coughed. Granger had spun her chair so that she was reading the parchment in the light from the window, and was entirely oblivious to his considerate "I'm here, notice me" cough. Which was a bit of a problem. Debating a moment with himself, he strode in lightly, avoiding piles of papers on desk and chair, and one particularly pernicious (toppleable) pile on top of a filing cabinet, before shadowing Granger's view. Inwardly, he allowed himself a slight smile as she looked up. _Finally._

 _"_ Black or with sugar?" Malfoy asked, his tone crisp and unflappable.

"Black," Granger responded, grabbing the coffee and quaffing a good third of it in one smooth gulp. _Gads, good thing that wasn't scalding_ , Malfoy thought. "You take two in the morning?" Granger asked, her tone still a little sleep-smeared.

"No, but I didn't know how you like it." Malfoy said.

"Give" Granger said, imperious and still sleep-deprived. It was almost enough to make Malfoy smirk, simply because a wakeful Granger was a polite beast.

Passing over the coffee, Malfoy wisely elected to be quiet and wait, still standing in the sunbeam. As Granger finished her second cup of coffee, she studied him closely - less suspiciously than yesterday. "You've studied the job description?"

"Yes?" Malfoy said, his curiousity apparent in his stillness, the intent regard he paid to her words.

"Fat load of rubbish, that. Here, take all the files on the cabinet. Sort them by date, name, and most importantly by efficacy. We're trying to create a case that werewolves deserve human rights. Proof of human rights abuses, particularly unjustified ones, is the name of the day." Granger nodded, standing suddenly - not seeming to notice her brief entrance into Malfoy's personal space. "I've got a meeting now, be back in an hour. Your desk is outside my office, anything else can wait till I'm back."

And with a swirl of frizzy hair, Granger strode off, her hips swooshing in a particularly flattering way that Malfoy knew she would cease instantly if anyone bothered pointing it out to the nosy bookworm. She wasn't doing it to get _attention_ , after all, it was merely more _efficient_. Still, Malfoy was never one to shirk from a good vantage, particularly one that was this unlikely to get him hexed... or fired.

On the half hour, as if precisely on time, Ronald Weasley strode up to Malfoy's desk. "Is Hermione here?" he asked with a smug smile. Draco stood, with one arm bent, and said, "I'm afraid not, stop back in half an hour?"

Ronald Weasely grinned, and said, "Shine my shoes."

Luckily, Malfoy knew what the hell Weasely was talking about. "On the desk then" he said, watching the gangly redhead hop onto his desk (and glad that he hadn't spread his papers everywhere like his boss. He hated mussed papers).

Malfoy squatted down, carefully arranging himself to show off his pert posterior to passersby. If he was going to have to assume a humiliating position, he was _damn_ sure going to make the most of it. With movements concise and terse, he slowly shined Weaselby's shoe. As he neared being done with the first shoe, Hermione bustled in.

"Ron! What are you doing here?" Hermione said warmly, as she caught sight of him sitting on her desk (her normal stack of papers getting in the way of noticing anything else).

"What does it look like?" Ron said with a cheeky grin. "Getting my shoes shined."

"What part of a muggle greeting ritual is shining shoes?" Malfoy asked, politely but stiffly, still buffing Ron's left shoe.

"Umm... no part that I'm aware of." Granger said, with a tone that said if she didn't know it, Ron certainly didn't. Setting the papers down, Granger looked - more startled than anything, down at what Ron was having her employee do. Granted, she may loathe the bugger, but he was her employee, on her dime, and Ron was wasting everyone's time. Didn't he have any work to do?

"Good, then I don't have to do this anymore." With a crisp snap to the towel (that just so happened to give Weaselby's shoe a good whap), Malfoy stood, bowed stiffly to both of them, and strode around his desk to continue doing his job. Shuffling papers about, he did a good impression of "not listening, working" - Hermione Granger had to admire it, actually.

"Ron" Hermione smiled sweetly, "Can I speak to you a moment?"

Ron looked back, almost successfully concealing a smirk, "Okay."

"In my office." Hermione said, striding into it without waiting. Ron followed like a chick trailing a hen. "Shut the door."

And Malfoy smiled.


	5. A forthcoming apology

[a/n: Draco is vain, we all know Draco is vain. Any attempts in the prior chappie to show off his ass...ets are simply because he is vain. He is also a blue-blooded human, capable of appreciating girls. Even ones with frizzy hair. These actually have nothing to do with feelings.]

About fifteen minutes later, the door opened and Ronald Weasley strolled out, his pace casual and he winked at Draco Malfoy. In response, Draco blinked, more baffled than angry, all of a sudden. _What the hell was that about?_ Draco thought, continuing to pull out papers from the pile, creating five piles around himself, as he shuffled the papers on his lap into a bare semblance of order.

Someone (female) cleared her throat, and Draco Malfoy looked up to see his boss sitting on the far corner of his desk. Draco processed this as an attempt to seem less formal, while still staying out of intimate space. Sadly, none of that was working, as Granger more resembled the picture of a secretary about to give dictation. From the purse of her lips, and the steadiness of her gaze, it wasn't an attractive secretary. No, this was more the "boiled prune" look, accentuated by her "buttoned to the neck" blouse and long pencil skirt (slit in the back, she couldn't walk otherwise).

"I fear I must apologize for Ron. He was unaware of the difference between an office environment and a more social situation. I fear he may have undermined our working relationship, and for that I am sorry. I will make sure that he treats you with the appropriate respect for someone in your situation in the future."

My _situation?_ Malfoy's first thought popped into his head. _Oh, being a secretary, yes,_ _ **that**_ _._ Not looking up from his sorting (Granger was really behind on her work), he said reprovingly (doing his best imitation of his mother, who was a master at the conversational art...), "You know you have an Atlas Complex, right?"

Had Malfoy been looking, he might have gloated (inwardly of course) at the look of confusion on Granger's face. "An... Atlas Complex... why would you say that?"

 _Still not willing to admit she doesn't know what the hell I'm talking about._ "You are admitting fault, taking on responsibility for someone else. Again."

"And that's a bad thing?" Granger asked, honestly confused at why he seemed to be upset about this.

"Well, I suppose it is paying me a salary, so I shouldn't complain." Malfoy said, at last looking up with a smirk. "After all, two thirds of these reports weren't even assigned to you." And Malfoy eyed Granger speculatively, wondering what she would take of the situation. Granger huffed and went back to work, not dignifying his accurate read with any more of her time. She was busy, after all, and one ought to expect a Slytherin to ferret out secrets. Even ones her boyfriend didn't know...

Granger emerged briefly to pass Malfoy some letters, with a belated, distracted "thank you" Near the end of the day, Granger bolted out of her office, muttering hurriedly, "so late, why am I so late!" _Did she not have a calendar?_ Malfoy thought, spelling back some of the papers that his boss's precipitous departure had torn loose from their assigned positions.

By the end of the day, Malfoy had his five piles arranged. He pulled out a piece of paper, and began to scrawl notes on it, in his characteristic "nobody reads this but me" messy scrawl (he perfectly well knew how to write with decorum and style, but that was for public view). _Six weeks is a short amount of time to fix this spaghetti mess_ , he thought. _Luckily for me, I'm a very perfect and capable person._

[a/n: Read and review, people! Up next: Ron, Ron, more Ron, with maybe a shade of Harry or two!]


	6. How awful was it?

It was a bit after five, and Draco Malfoy had left work, before Granger returned... if she was even going to. _Oh, well, more work for me!_ He thought with a dash of sardonic glee. Five piles of paper, now at home, looked back at him from his bed, as he crossed and uncrossed his legs. No calendar, nothing specific - not even one of those lists that Granger was so famous for. _How the hell was he supposed to manage this batty bitch?_

With a sigh, he began to uncross and cross his legs, mentally composing a list of things that he simply had to know about, before he could be even the least bit effective. Heck, he hadn't even known what meeting she attended today! It was, quite frankly, intolerable.

Nodding with resolve, he pulled a quill and paper, and the first entry on his already completed list was: Explain to Granger how to be a boss, as she clearly doesn't understand her job. And Draco Malfoy smirked.

* * *

Granger bustled out of her committee meeting, already buzzing with more things to do, when she saw Harry leaning against the wall, waiting for her. Pausing a moment, she looked at him, knowing the silence would impel him to speak.

"How awful was it today, Hermione?" Harry asked, his tone quiet and pensive.

Hermione pursed her lips, and thought. "He nearly didn't say a word the entire day -"

Her thought was left hanging, suspended somewhere between now and "in a moment" as Harry took her silence as a cue to speak. "That's good right?"

"I just don't understand it, that's all!" Hermione said, her tone cross and heated, though still quiet as a mouse.

Harry carefully hid a smile. Hermione Granger was a holy terror when she didn't understand something. That she was confused about Malfoy was like handing the man a broken mirror, bad luck, if perhaps not _for_ seven full years, it was probable she could condense seven years of bad luck into seven _days_. **

"I keep on waiting for him to say something, to do something evil, or twerpish, or brattish or prattish or anything!"

Hermione sounded aggrieved and Harry found himself wondering if she fancied a decent argument (preferably without slugs this time, the paperwork for that was awful!). "So, he's been a relatively decent bloke - for a Malfoy, and you're contanking about it?" ***

"Exactly! Now, walk with me, I've got to set this down, and get the rest of my work for after-dinners." As they walked, Harry regaled her with "not much of anything" and Hermione was giggling at one of Gin's pranks when she got to her office. Startled, she looked at her desk. And then walked out, and looked at Malfoy's.

"They aren't here." Hermione said, her tone icy.

"What? Hermione, what's wrong?" Harry Potter knew that his friend was prone to rather hot-headed rages - Ron had certainly caused enough of them in school. But a quiet Granger was a deadly scary sight, and not just for her enemies.

"Fifty pages of paperwork, at least, and what I had wanted to do when I got home, to boot!" Hermione's eyes fairly cracked with annoyance. "He's gone and taken them home, I'm sure of it."

"Wasn't that what you were about to do...?" Harry Potter said gently, meaning to steer Hermione into not setting Malfoy on fire the next time she saw him.

"Exactly! And that means I'll be another day behind!" Hermione was wildly gesticulating towards a picture framed on her wall. _Was that Thatcher?_ Harry thought.

[a/n: I had meant for these to be a chapter a day. We're on Wednesday Night, you know.

** - Is this too deep for Harry? I know it's a bit of his perspective in the narration...

*** - yup, neologism. Not as good as crufty, but it seemed like it worked.

Read and Review, my dearies! Or I'll send Hermione to stalk your dreams, with her hair sparking and her eyes flashing fire]


	7. Waiting for Godot

The next morning, Draco Malfoy was up at the crack of dawn, knowing that he'd have to pay a visit to Pansy before the workday started. Not that she'd be there without it costing an explicit(ly minor) favor from him. And there would be another before the end of their conversation, Draco knew it as sure as he knew his last name. Whyever did women come up with this newfangled addiction to working? Not that Pansy was actually working, Draco thought, as he sauntered in the vague direction of her Department of Paperwork (at least Granger could _theoretically_ be useful). No, Pansy Parkinson was a Manhunter, and always would be (except in the unlikely circumstance that she got hitched with someone possessive and controlling enough to keep her in line). Luckily, Draco Malfoy was one of the few people she counted as a friend. Slytherins had few enough of those as it was, so she was often enough as crucial to his plans as he was to hers. It wasn't even that he minded owing her a moderate favor, because he knew she was good for it. Not that she wouldn't take advantage, if he was fool enough to let his guard down. But she'd do it with a smile (not casual cruelty), and he'd learn from it.

Striding back from Pansy's office (and fervently hoping he didn't smell like her latest perfume), Draco Malfoy had a _wonderful_ idea. As his feet set foot in Hermione Granger's office, he turned towards the door and put his cleverness to work. Smirking as he left, Draco Malfoy arranged the piles neatly on his desk. There were six, five towers, and one small, tidy pile in the center, facing outward. Rather elegantly sipping a stiff cup of strong black tea (no liquor before noontime), Draco awaited his boss, as perfectly composed as he could possibly make himself. After seven years with the Slytherins - and more with the Death Eaters, that was quite well indeed.

Minutes before nine o'clock, Draco Malfoy lifted his head off the runes he had been idly doodling. Oh, sure, they spelled _something_... but relatively unimportant. A brief message for Pansy, mainly to pass the time. He heard footsteps, and stilled himself to motionlessness, his hand unwavering in it's gentle grasp of the teacup. Two sets, he thought, wondering sharply who Granger had brought as backup. He needn't have spent the time pondering, as Ron Weasley's voice echoed down the halls, filled with unrepressed laughter. For a moment, Draco was nearly jealous. It had been a long time since he had been so free with his emotions.

And then they were at the door, and Ron was gently kissing Granger goodbye. Had Granger even noticed he was there? Draco wondered. Was this a normal practice? Was he to be accosted with such blatant displays of intimacy throughout the workday? At least Ron didn't work in the same department, that would be intolerable. The Malfoys, however tender in private, had always displayed better breeding than to be openly affectionate in public.

"You! YOU!" Granger caterwauled at Malfoy, as she stepped around Weasley - who seemed oddly more preoccupied with hiding than stopping his raving girlfriend. Maybe he had experience with her in these snits? "What did you do with my papers?!"

Wordlessly, Malfoy spread his hands, smirking only slightly as he lifted his eyebrows. "Sorted and collated, as you asked for."

"But! But I wanted them last night! You STOLE them! I came back, and they weren't here!" Down the hall, various minor heads were popping out of offices - though there did look to be a few actual employees juggling coffee and the latest Granger distraction as they hurried towards whatever meeting they were newly late for.

"You asked me to sort them, didn't you?" Malfoy couldn't quite keep the note of reproof out of his voice. "Why don't we take this into your office." _Before you start shooting spells, not afterwards!_ "I think we're starting to draw a bit of a crowd." _Besides, weren't dressing-downs best saved for private? particularly when they're coming from your own **employee**._

[a/n: I tried for a full chapter for Thursday, but it looks like it's going to be two. Draco's family was nearly Prussian in terms of "displays of affection", don't you think?

Read and Review, boys and gals!]


	8. Fireworks

Hermione Granger stomped into her office, and Draco Malfoy followed, light as a cat, but as precise as a drill sergeant - or a butler, which was far more in keeping with his present, affected mannerism. Draco Malfoy closed the door gently, noting the people with their ears discretely out. Turning around, he said curtly, "Rather a lot of Ravenclaws about, don't you think? Three people party to that conversation, and I don't mean you, Weasley or me."

Hermione looked levelly at Draco Malfoy and said, "What progress have you made on the reports?"

"We'll get to that momentarily. What I want to talk about now is why you aren't doing your job, and exactly how you're going to fix it." His tone was quiet, and if it wasn't quite Severus Snape's version of quiet that demanded obedience to everyone listening - and half the people who weren't, well, at least he wasn't shouting. Draco Malfoy was quite irate enough to be shouting, so that was an accomplishment.

Hermione Granger stood up behind her desk, her chest puffing up as she squared her shoulders - was her hair sparking? Malfoy fought the urge to duck. "Did you just say you thought I wasn't doing my job _properly_? Did you read one scrap of those pages, or were you lying about that too?"

Shite. Draco Malfoy should have remembered that Granger was pricklier than a cactus about such things. "I've read them all, Granger, and I wasn't talking about your work." _There, let's see if she can twist that._

"Then what in God's Green Earth were you talking about?" Granger said.

"You're my boss. That's your job too. You're three seconds away from exploding, because I did the organizing you asked me to do. You haven't told me your schedule, or done practically anything about assigning me work. You're Not Doing Your Job Right." The last bit came out a bit more growled than he would have liked, but at least he wasn' shouting. Or spitting. Filch had always been prone to that - detestable man.

It took Granger a few breaths to calm down, and then, still standing, she buried her face in her hands. From behind her hands, she asked, "What, exactly, do you think your job is about?"

"I looked it up - it was in the paperwork." _Probably not the best time to admit he had only done that **after** he had gotten the job. _ " Making coffee, standard greeting rituals, keeping your schedule, and general officekeeping - that means filing and copying and dictation." Draco Malfoy couldn't help it if he looked a bit defensive - he hadn't a blithering clue why she'd hired _him_ to work as a secretary. _Ordinarily_ he'd simply suspect an intricate plot to humiliate him... but there had been no parading him about, forcing him to take notes while Granger spoke at ministry functions or committee meetings. It just didn't fit.

Hermione Granger was shaking, behind her hands. _Bloody- is she crying? What in Hel's good **name** did I say to cause that? _ Draco was fairly certain that his expression more resembled uncomfortable than panicking, but - with a few deep breaths, he tried for tranquility. As he opened his eyes, Granger's hands fell from her face. Her eyes gleamed bright behind them, and she was wearing a broad grin, "Oh, so that's what's got your knickers in a bunch! Malfoy, I didn't hire you to be a secretary. I hired you to assist me in getting things done."

Draco Malfoy couldn't help himself - a broad, bright grin crossed his face, as he said, "Thank Merlin! that's the best news I've had all week. I couldn't think of a reason - any reason - you'd have hired me to be a paperpusher!" It had been bothering him, after all. Draco Malfoy could see himself as someone getting things done - he was charming, after all, and had quite a few interesting connections (some legitimate, some social, and some very much under the table). It hardly mattered exactly what Granger thought she was getting when she hired him. _He could do this_. The thought was a rush of relief - hence the wide grin.

"Granger, what do you want me to call you? I can't call you Miss, that sounds like you're eleven and so am I... and calling you Madam is just wrong - you aren't department head, or anything like that..."

Granger gave an effortless shrug, saying, "Call me what you like" - and she seemed about ready to disappear into her papers, which would be hardly productive. Draco wanted this out, and solved, before he left her office.

"I can hardly call you "Your Majesty, Queen of the Mudbloods", can i?" Draco Malfoy said.

He had nearly forgotten she had her wand up her sleeve - the stinging hex she sent towards a - now not-present - sensitive portion of his anaotomy was a nasty reminder. Having ducked, he rolled to see the hex bouncing back at one of the books. Luckily it wasn't that old. "Never call me that word, Malfoy, if you value your hide. This is your first, and last, warning."

Draco Malfoy began to stand up, saying "As you wish, your majesty." Another stinging hex (aimed at his backside) sent him sprawling to the floor again. "Surely you realized that every muggleborn bloke had a crush on you - at some point in school? And about half the girls too?"

"Granger, just what is your status here? Are you really the lowest rookie, and doing the work of three people? How is it that they haven't offered you a raise yet?" Draco asked, the implications of this troubling him. If her superiors were really that blind to not see how well she was doing, they might interfere. And that would hardly make Draco Malfoy look good.

"Oh, they did offer me a raise. I used it to hire you." Granger said, "Money's no use if I can't actually get the job done, right?"

"I see." Draco Malfoy said, his mind already rolling through the implications of that. _She still deserves a raise, something to put her above the other buck rooks._

Turning, just a bit, Draco Malfoy picked up a page from the top of one of the piles that he had organized last night, "I'll be taking this, then! To getting things done!"

As he cheerfully turned around, Hermione Granger sent an unnoticed glare into his back. Moments later, she stalked out of her office, hissing to Malfoy, "I should fire you for calling me that."

"You can't - you don't have time. " Malfoy looked irrepressably cheerful, showing her a foot high pile of papers, "That's the paperwork for at-will firings. And there's be more if I decided to contest it." Hermione Granger glared, her eyes trying to catch his hair on fire. "If I don't do my job, or otherwise create grounds, it's a different story of course. But you'd have to read all about it - it's outlined in _this_ pile of documents" Malfoy casually waived at a half-foot tall stack of documents.

[a/n: well, that was easier than I expected. Turns out I kinda loathe writing emotional fights, which means this story is going to be difficult.

Up Next: Potter comes running! At the beck and call...

Please write a review if you're excited about this story.

If I were doing this as these two idiots had any feelings for each other at this point, I'd have had an excuse to describe Draco's bum! And Granger's breasts.

But this is NOT that story, and so readers should persevere. Perhaps Ron will arrive to provide the appropriate levels of ogling.

Draco isn't a perfect person, folks, and neither is Granger. As this fic involves them fighting (a lot), there'll be ample reason for hating them both.]


	9. Don't you like surprises?

Hermione Granger strolled into work two hours early, giving Ron Weasley a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. Was Malfoy frowning? He certainly seemed to be trying to hide himself in his work. For that matter - what was he doing? Hermione Granger decided to be the leastest bit wicked, letting out a girlish giggle and going up on her tiptoes to kiss Ron on the lips. As she turned back towards her office, she mentally nodded. Malfoy was doing his best to seem like he was working - no guarantee that he was slacking off, but definitely bearing watching. Well, if she ever had spare time! Wait... wasn't that why she had hired him?

Neville came in, his face pocked with something that looked contagious, but probably wasn't - because he was Neville Longbottom, and it was probably something herbal that he was allergic to. "Neville! What a pleasant surprise!" Hermione said, and spent the next twenty minutes trying to divert him from some questioning about how well the werewolf laws were going. She didn't have time for it, after all, and she wanted to kick Neville out - but it was Neville, and Hermione really didn't have the cruelty in her to make him sad.

Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, had quite a bit of cruelty in him, and listening to Neville distract Hermione was getting on his nerves. After about eighteen minutes, he stood, stretching, and strode into Granger's office, shutting the door behind him with an audible thump, and cracking the papers in his hand with a crisp snap. "Mr. Longbottom, If you've quite finished, I've got something I need to discuss with my boss." Neville left with the expected apologies, and Granger glared up at Malfoy, saying, "Well what is it?"

"Do I really have to?" Malfoy drawled... his eyes boring into Granger's like lead.

"Yes, by Jove! Speak up if there's something to be said!" Granger said, and Malfoy found himself wondering if she had just quoted a book. The witch liked to read them - everyone knew that. He wouldn't be surprised if it was some Muggle rag.

"You needed a distraction. I provided one. Perhaps you'd get more done if you didn't let your friends distract you so."

"Get out!" Granger yelled, and Malfoy counted himself lucky it wasn't a roar. That was merely a shout - perhaps Granger was just as angry with herself for being in the wrong as she was with Malfoy for being in the right.

Malfoy strode out with his back ramrod straight, and seated himself in his chair outside her office, wondering if Granger was going to bother asking him what he was doing. He rather hoped she didn't - he always liked surprises! Well, giving them, at any rate. Lord Voldemort had seared into enough people's flesh the lack of enjoyment of "surprises" given to them at a moment's notice.

[a/n: short, sweet, write a review - Pansy's up next, for a date! (in which we defeat all fanfic convention...)]


	10. It's a Date!

It was eleven thirty, and Draco Malfoy was counting the minutes until it was twelve, fighting the childish urge to swing his feet. That morning, he had considered wearing something a bit more ... spiffy than his normal workclothes, before deciding that it would be inappropriate. After all, it was just a lunch date - and with Pansy. Remembering with a wince how clingy she had been at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy briefly entertained wearing something a little less spiffy than his normal attire. With a rueful grin, he gave it up as a lost cause and got dressed. _Seriously, how is Granger at work more than two hours early?_ was his first coherent thought of the workday.

But by eleven-thirty, Draco Malfoy had decided he didn't give two figs what Granger was doing, or why, his hand was cramping and he just wanted a break. Writing for four hours was one thing, but writing for six was another entirely. _Granger_ got breaks - off at meetings where she was undoubtedly impressing - and pissing off - everyone with her knowledge.

At eleven fifty five, Granger emerged from her office, not looking at Malfoy as she dropped a single sheet of paper on his desk, "Here" she said coldly, "Sorry it's late."

"Why thank you, your Majesty, much obliged." Draco Malfoy managed gallantly - though from the twist of her mouth, it looked like his boss had simply taken his words as sarcastic. As Granger stalked off - undoubtedly bent on buttonholing someone who wouldn't speak to her otherwise, over lunch of _all_ things possible... Draco stole a look at the paper - Job Assignments. _Lovely, simply lovely - more stuff to do!_ He thought sarcastically. At least items four and seven he was already in the process of completing.

And then everything went to shite. Granger was stalking out the door, and Pansy was headed in - as usual her head neatly swiveled off to one side, giving a gay wave to someone she meant to flirt with later. Somehow, the two of them collided without either making a sound - the little sounds of cracking shoes and falling papers notwithstanding. Draco Malfoy fought down the urge to cover his head with his hands, or to throw something at the two of them. People were looking - in fact, it looked like the entire department had intuited the potential for a catfight, and with rubbernecking intent, were leaning out of cubes and offices - and Jay sticking his head over the cubewall.

Granger - undoubtedly to cover her "I was thinking too hard to see Pansy, who isn't the slightest slip of a girl" troubles - snaped as she stood first, "What are _you_ doing here, Pansy?" _Oooh, cleverly done, use of first name - keep her a bit off balance, and intimate a bit of false familiarity. One point for Granger!_ \- for Draco had decided to keep track.

As Pansy rose to her now uneven feet, she said stiffly, "Not that it's any of your business, but I happen to have a date. Not that you'd know anything about that sort of social nicety - not with that sourpuss look on your face!"

"A date? With whom?" Granger said, more insistent on keeping up with proper grammar than actually continuing the catfight. _Not that she's remembered she had someone to buttonhole - who has by now probably made it to the enchanting little table at which they generally sit and read the paper during lunch._

"With me, of course." Draco Malfoy offered up, in tones of sterling courtesy. _No familiarity at all, false or otherwise - just the way I generally like it._

"And you don't have enough manners to pick up your date somewhere that isn't my office?" Granger snapped, completely missing any subtext in her ire.

"Unfortunately, my supervisor has just assigned me enough work that I doubt that will be possible for some time." Draco Malfoy said, at last standing - as he neatly stacked the papers. _How many of those bored office ladies are ogling me? Who would have thought that the "well dressed butler" look would actually impress? On the other hand, it could just be my natural physique..._

"If you will excuse us," Pansy said, her painted nails pushing gently against Granger to move her out of the way, "we don't want to be late for our reservation." _Perfect politeness, and perfect disdain. Not that Pansy's a stranger to attracting a crowd, but catfights in public are so undignified!_

[a/n: Draco makes fights more interesting, no? Write a review - then you'll get to hear what happens after lunch. And after that, Harry Potter appears!]


	11. A good head of steam

Draco had a delightful lunch with Pansy, who talked endlessly about things both of them knew he didn't care about. But that was alright - after all, it was Pansy doing him a favor. So he pretended interest, and Pansy pretended that he'd remember anything about their conversation. But above all else, they were in public and on a date. Granger wouldn't have believed him if he had told her it was business, anyway. It was a very subtle business - the type of which all Slytherins knew, and nearly no Gryffindors did (well, perhaps Potter...) - "Keeping Up Appearances."

There was a steady swell of tittering and ogling as he strode through the department, heading for Granger's office. He kept his eyes steady and facing forward, but even he could pick up the steady spread of gossip. But to Malfoy, gossip was as normal as breathing - and if they were gossiping about him, he'd be sure to find out ... _later_.

Sitting down in his chair, he began to write out the seemingly endless stream of correspondence that Granger... had already done. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he thought, _because I just love redoing shoddy work._ And then, with a smirk, _Better save that comment for later, it's well put._ Malfoy immersed himself in writing, and the words flew down onto the page.

A low buzzing started, in moments reaching full thunder-clap loudness like an avalanche. Looking up, he couldn't help but wonder what it was... _Hermione Granger, striding through the place like she owns it._ ** He watched as she stopped, a brief expression of curiosity turning to deep worry, as she approached some of the gossiping hens. And then the fireworks started - the hens diving for cover or trying to evade being even seen by Hermione, whose hair had started to spark blue flames, entirely unprovoked. Despite himself, he found himself curious as to what they had said. _Blast!_ He thought, _I'd have cast an eavesdropping spell if I had known this would be so entertaining._

Luckily, Malfoy had little time to wonder - as Granger was still spitting nails as she came back. "Malfoy, My office!" She demanded, in a voice that Draco was sure moved Aurors... if not Slytherins. Slytherins were notoriously hard to move with the voice of command. "Now!" Granger shouted, her head tilted as she leaned her head into the doorway, her perpetually frizzy hair cascading down like a curly waterfall.

Startled that he had been thinking rather than moving, Draco Malfoy lept to his feet as casually as he could, and strode into Granger's office with seven-league strides. Shutting the door, he asked gravely, "Your orders, your majesty?"

"This is all YOUR fault!" Granger raged, as Draco Malfoy struggled to keep a quizzical expression off his face. Truly, he had _no_ idea.

"What, precisely, have I done now?"

"You decided to go out on a date with Pansy Parkinson!"

"And in what timeframe does this matter to you?" Draco was actually curious...

"In the timeframe that the gossips outside have decided that Pansy and I had a catfight! Over your worthless hide! Oh, and proceeded to tell me ALLL about it - starting with 'Poor Ron'!"

"It's hardly my fault if people want to make up adolescent fantasies." Draco Malfoy said with a snort, though privately he was thinking that he perhaps ought to apologize. He'd never understand how Granger and Weasley got together - nevermind _stayed_ together, and this would undoubtedly put a strain on them. "If you want, we could stage some sort of elaborate fight, whereupon you go jumping straight into Weasel's arms..." _It was about the closest he would get to apologizing,_ Draco thought.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you! No, we can let it die out, with a minimal amount of fuss on our part!" Granger's eyes almost seemed to flash red when she was angry... Draco Malfoy thought, _Why had I never noticed that before?_

"As you wish. If you're done venting, I do have work to do." Draco Malfoy ventured in a crisp voice. Granger favored him with a nod, and Draco strode over to the door, pausing a moment with his hand on the knob, saying quietly - in that trained voice that carried, "They were right about one thing, though..."

"Yah-huh?" Granger asked, her meaning entirely in the intonation.

"You _were_ jealous about my date." Draco Malfoy said, his eyes betraying nothing - as usual.

"Why would I possibly be jealous over Pansy Parkinson? So totally not my type!" Granger replied, her wit for once not weighed down with enough bile to blacken several souls.

"Not that. You've been working hard, and you wanted a break. Pity your boyfriend didn't think - as usual. You might try suggesting it to him - he looks like the type to follow orders well enough." At that, Draco Malfoy left the office. He was somewhat gratified to notice Hermione Granger staring at him, mouth agape. _Mission Accomplished: Get the Last Word._

** Draco's completely unaware that he does the exact same thing, and even if he was, the similarity wouldn't bother him a bit. It's that it is Granger doing it that chafes his hide.

[a/n: Well, saving potter for next time. Draco Malfoy does feel some sort of obscure loyalty to his boss - she is signing his paychecks after all. Just goes to show that a Slytherin's cunning needn't always be used for awful purposes.]


	12. Enter the Pothead

Draco was nearly smiling by the end of the workday. Letters of response were beginning to pour in. With luck, most of them would arrive by monday morning. Even better, Granger was out of the office (undoubtedly talking to one of the politicians, or maybe a bureaucrat or two - Merlin forbid she should take any time off that wasn't enforced by people locking her out of the entire building. _Bookmark that, Malfoy, it sounds like fun._ )

Standing up, he straightened himself and strode out the door (leaving more than an hour late, the entire place seemed mostly deserted), a stack of papers in his hands that he wanted to review on the elevator down to the lobby. "A word, Malfoy." Malfoy heard someone say that, from behind him and to the left - right out of the maze of cubicles.

With battle-honed instincts, Draco pivoted, putting his back to the dubious protection of a partition, his wand nearly drawn before he saw that it was the green-eyed gaze of Harry Pothead. "Don't _do_ that!" Draco snapped peevishly. "Do you want to get hexed?"

"I'd like to see you try." Potter scoffed. "Nevertheless, business before pleasure, as they say."

Draco Malfoy found himself eyeing Potter up and down. He didn't look like he had come about Draco's business... " _What_ business?" Draco ventured cautiously, softly, his voice instinctively lowering itself in the way that Slytherins always did when they were plotting something.

"I've come to invite you to Molly Weasley's house for dinner Sunday." Harry Potter grinned, as he leaned back against the partition.

"You... you can't be serious..." Draco finally stammered out - this was not on his list of things to do this weekend (which was actually fairly extensive, even if it did include browsing for books for one and three quarters hours...).

"I suggest you accept the invitation." Potter's eyes were level - he couldn't quite manage stern, but he was actually pulling off serious.

"Why's that?" Draco managed, his curiosity stirring like a snake in his heart - something he'd want to throttle later, no doubt.

"Because I've been selected to give you the _nice_ invitation. Further invitations will involve more browbeating... and creativity." Potter said, his mouth playing with a smile that he didn't let fully show. Malfoy merely cocked his head inquiringly at Potter - wishing he'd get to the _point_ , as Draco was rather hungry already. It had been a looong time since lunch. "Fred and George know a thousand and one ways to encourage you to accept their Mum's invitation. Do you _really_ want to attend as some sort of yellow puffball crossed with a bantam rooster?"

Draco Malfoy's eyes got wide, definitely despite himself - _he means that I've got no choice, as the twins will make sure I come, even if I need to have my voice removed to make it possible._

"Okay, brief me." Draco Malfoy said, his hostility submerged beneath a level of nearly professional courtesy.

[a/n: for Draco Malfoy, attending social events was almost a second career. Courtesy of his mother - he hates the blasted things. Needless to say, Granger doesn't know he's coming].


	13. The Briefing: Part 1

"You do know what a dinner is, Malfoy, right?" Potter drawled in a passable imitation of a Slytherin insult.

"Of course I do, it was _your_ relatives that forgot to feed you at the table like a normal child."

"It wasn't forgetfulness." Potter said with a sort of leaden thump that robbed the entire exchange of any real fire. "There'll be time before and after for conversation, maybe some chess. No wireless, so don't even ask."

"Right, poor Weasels" Malfoy said, smirking.

"Rub it in their face, in their own home, and you may not get to leave by the end of the night." Potter said with a disturbingly malicious grin.

Mildly startled, Malfoy let out a dry chuckle. "So noted."

"Best to start from oldest to youngest." Potter said with a hint of a smile. "Brace yourself, there's a lot of them."

"Potter, I know half of them already, and I do know how to memorize names. Some consider that an essential life skill." Draco was rather fond of the excessively icy hauteur he put on those last three words, it perfectly mimicked (and mocked) his mother.

Potter's mouth quirked at the imitation - _has his sense of humor improved, somehow?_ "Molly Weasley - mother of the brood, and housewife. Genuine salt of the earth person, heart of gold. Loves to make a fuss, so don't expect to escape without your cheeks being pinched." Draco, lacking anything particularly snide to say, simply nodded.

"Arthur, her husband, will be there of course."

"Oh, the mugglemad husband!" Draco said, perking up a bit, "Does he shock himself often, you think?"

"Hermione's generally successful at making sure he's not got anything that actually works." Harry said ruefully.

"What's he on about now?" Draco Malfoy said excitedly, though from the doubtful way Pothead was eyeing him, Potter thought that his excitement was more for the prospect of gore. Which it wasn't, really. Draco Malfoy just liked _convenient_ distractions, particularly with his penchant for offending the errant Weaselby or two.

"I have no idea. He's probably through three contraptions since I last saw him - and that was just last week. Last I checked he was investigating a telephone." Potter said offhandedly. Draco made a mental note to get Arthur Weaselby a fountain pen - there had to be something muggle that would work for the man, and taking a pen apart and putting it back together couldn't really cause all that much havoc - could it? Draco Malfoy had a sudden vision of a spurt of ink dancing around the room, coating everything in indigo. Still, the twins would probably not bespoil a gift simply to have fun... Actually, that seemed like exactly what they would do. Perhaps a private gift for the master of the house would be more appropriate, at that. **

**Draco's well aware that one is supposed to bring a hostess gift. He's also certain that if he puts on enough formality, he can get the Weasels to go along with just about anything.

[Write me a review, tell me how well (or poorly) I'm doing!]


	14. The Briefing: Continued

"There's Bill, of course. You may not remember him, he's got long hair and an earring. He got married to Fleur Delacour." Harry said smoothly.

"The one from Beauxbatons? The Champion?" Draco Malfoy asked curiously.

"Yeah, that's her. Bill works as a curse-breaker for Gringotts." Harry said, and Draco Malfoy let out a low whistle, looking impressed despite himself. Draco wryly reflected to himself that he was honestly impressed, but that it wouldn't do to show such an impression of any of the Weasels.

"Charlie Weasley's two years younger than Bill, and he works with dragons. He probably won't be there, but anyone's liable to show up. There's always room at Molly's table." Harry said.

"Really? With that many children?" Draco said sardonically.

"Percy got them an expansible table for Yule, three years back. Now it can hold as many as you please." Harry replied evenly.

"Ahh! Percy. He works here, doesn't he?" Draco said affably. He rather liked Percy - the man was bright enough to pretend to be just a bit dimmer than he actually was. Besides, he worked at the ministry, and there was no sense in making enemies where he worked, simply because he was a Weasel. Percy seemed the type to have an eye for details - and nitpicking.

"Sure does, up a few flights. You'd have to look at his office door to tell you where he works, I could never keep that straight." Harry said almost apologetically. Draco didn't mind at all, he hadn't even started the interrogation yet.

"If I sit beside him, can I safely assume that the entire meal will be filled with conversations about work?" Draco asked hopefully.

"You can indeed" Harry said, smiling gently. Harry Potter knew what it was like to be the lonely one at the table, after all. "And then there's Fred and George. I'd say don't sit next to them, but that's probably futile. You're new, and they like subjecting new people to their japes."

"Slytherins excel at ducking. Don't sit me between them and yourself." Draco said with a toothy smile.

"Don't I know it," Harry grinned, before saying more seriously, "ducking charges too..." Draco looked at Potter sharply - _was that about me; or my father?_ Potter looked up, slowly - was that a _calculating_ look in Potter's eyes?

"You know Ron - he'll be coming with Hermione, of course." Harry Potter said, his grin back in full force - as Draco Malfoy tried to hide a wince. "She won't know you're coming, by the way. I'd watch out for her - I'm not sure quite what you've done, but she seems pretty upset."

Draco smiled idly, even nonchalantly, as he said - quite truthfully, "I have no idea... but thanks for the warning."

[a/n: up next: the rest of the cast of "might show ups." Truth be told, anyone from the Order might show up - and a few others besides, mostly neighbors.

Harry has no idea what he's gotten himself into, by agreeing to brief Draco Malfoy. Not that Malfoy'll be asking for _secrets_ , per se. It's just that Slytherins have a natural tendency to want to know _everything_ about social situations.

Like it? Hate the briefing? Want more fireworks? Write a review, and I'll think about it.]


	15. Brevity is the soul of wit

Harry Potter shuffled a bit and said, "There may be other people there. Molly sometimes invites, well, different people. Werewolves, muggleborns, even a squib."

"Even a Malfoy? Tell me, how'd that happen?" Malfoy's brain was whirling with the thoughts of the circus that could be in the house. ** He had grown up with garden parties, and such - but the Weasley house was small, and it was very likely to be cramped. Draco _hated_ cramped places.

Now, Harry Potter looked even more uncomfortable. _Interesting,_ Malfoy thought. "That's... actually Ron's fault. He was babbling on about how you had done us such a big favor by agreeing to work for Hermione..."

Malfoy blinked. And then blinked again. "I did you a favor?"

"Yeah," Potter said, nodding. "Who do you think generally gets drafted when Hermione gets in over her head?"

Malfoy nodded slowly, it did make an absurd amount of sense.

Potter continued, "Who did you think was stuck looking through the piles of applications? Hermione hadn't the time, and you know it." Potter delivered the last with a grin that, were he a Slytherin, Draco would have sworn was calculated to take the sting out of the comment. Gryffindors hadn't the wit for that sort of thing, fortunate or not.

"No wonder she didn't look happy to interview me," Draco Malfoy mused idly, "When were you planning on telling me this, Potter?"

"Huh? I just did...?" Harry said, looking confused.

"Five days after you succeeded in your oh-so-ingenious scheme." Draco said haughtily - some habits died hard, it seemed.

"It's not like we generally talk, Malfoy." Harry said, his eyes flashing. "Anyway, Molly got an earful from Ron, and insisted that you come over. She wouldn't take no for an answer - and you _know_ the Weasleys are stubborn as a cow mired in mud."

The analogy got an amused snort from Malfoy. "So, tell me Potter, how does this break down? Say, if I make fun of the Weaselette, who'll stand up for her?"

"That'd be Charlie, first... maybe Bill if you keep on. I know better than to stand up for her - she'd make me regret it."

"And if I went after Fred?"

"George, of course. The twins look after themselves, always have."

"Percy?"

"Molly might back him up, or Arthur. He doesn't really get along with the rest of them, not sure you've seen it. Malfoy, are you really planning on annoying everyone in sight?" Harry asked, his eyes sparkling though his face looked quite serious.

"No, not in particular. Just looking at the lay of the land, so to speak."

"Well, know this - pushed far enough, all the Weasleys band together. At that point, it's generally wise to run."

"You've seen this?" Draco mused thoughtfully.

"Not as such, no, but the stories!" Harry said with a smooth grin, "They had Snape up a tree!"

Draco blinked. _Snape_ 's temper was legendary - maybe he had finally gone too far? "I'll have to ask what comment brought that on."

Potter smiled, saying, "no comment."

"I'm not actually on the newspaper staff, you know." Draco Malfoy informed Potter with a decidedly haughty tone.

"Of course you aren't. Still, Slytherins are apt to grasp any advantage they can, aren't they?"

"Kind words to call the ambitious - some would say greedy - House." Draco said with a smirk.

"Time heals all wounds - I'll see you Sunday!" Harry said, striding off at full speed. Apparently Snape wasn't the only one who could do that without making a sound.

[a/n: finally! Now I just need to write out a Saturday of Interest. Or maybe I'll skip it, Sunday should be fun enough.

Like it? Love it? Hate it? Write a review!]

**he hasn't really heard about the children yet, teehee.


	16. Friday Shifts to Saturday, Seamlessly

Draco Malfoy was in his room at the Manor, pacing about, trying to organize everything he had just learned. And it had been a lot - Potter had been surprisingly forthcoming, perhaps in an effort to prevent catastrophe, or perhaps just trying to instigate it. Gryffindors and their blasted bravery!, it was often hard to tell. Still, what had made the most sense - and the least - was that it had been Potter and Weasley's idea to get him hired by Granger. No wonder she had been so pissed off, and so unready to help him fit in. They probably had had to browbeat the stubborn witch into even accepting help. She probably thought help came with roses and sunshine and faeries - not a modicum of effort to gain more freedom later. He would have approached the whole thing differently had he known. **

Hermione Granger was fixing another long stack of parchments, finding herself wondering just what Draco Malfoy was doing with his time at the office. Granted, she had told him to organize her papers - which, when she had got them back, she had to ruefully acknowledge that he had done competently... But, that had been over a day ago. The possibilities teased at her imagination. He certainly hadn't looked like he was just slacking... Hermione had plenty of experience with that, judging by the gaggle of bubbly girls who came out every single time Harry dropped by. As if he'd look at any of them, honestly!

Saturday was simply interminable, Draco Malfoy thought, his legs crossed at the ankles, as he ate high tea with his Mother. She had insisted that he at least bother to come to one social occasion a week, and this gaggle of hens was her idea of a fun time. Or perhaps it was a punishment for him - with his mother, it was often hard to tell. His father had come out, once, to ask him if he wanted a smoke - but Draco wasn't interested in hearing his father reminisce, or, worse yet, give him business advice. He didn't intend to succeed by bribing and browbeating... except if absolutely necessary, of course. Besides, he had heard everything his father had ever done before - often when it occurred (his father loved to boast, where it was safe to do so - which was generally to his adoring son). While tuning out his mother and her supposed friends, Draco amused himself by plotting out various ways the next day would go down. Frowning, he made a mental note to visit the wine cellar. It would be good to bring some brain-numbing libations, in case the Gryffindors' idea of a fun time involved brainteasers at their depleated mental capacity.

Hermione nestled back into Ron's arms, snug, as she prompted Harry and Ron to talk about their week. Surprisingly, it was pretty mundane - there always seemed to be some interesting case or another - but it was too quiet. And, as usual, the quiet was driving the boys a bit crazy.

Afterwards, the Gryffindors ordered takeaway. Indian was soul food, and they exulted in the sheer mess of it, Ron especially, cramming naan after naan into his mouth, occasionally dipped with just enough palak to smear across his face.

**no, he wouldn't. he had a job description, it was just pure crapola.

[a/n: filler... fiiiller... Tommorrow at Dawn! oh, no, wait, that's sunday evening. Swords at dusk has a better ring to it, anyway. Bets on who gets a dagger in the back?

Write a review, folks!]


	17. Into the teeth of the wind

Draco Malfoy apparated a discrete distance up the street from the Burrow. His instincts had told him that it was not a good idea to floo through. Perhaps, he thought quietly, he just needed the walk to accustom himself to the idea of visiting the Weasleys. His instincts were rarely wrong, so, as he walked, he thought of quite a few avenues of conversation - some droll, some amusing, a few with a devilish bit of fun. It would be best to save those last for if the evening got too long - he'd probably get kicked out just for starting them.

As Draco Malfoy opened the gate to the Burrow, he winced as he felt the wards tickling his skin, creeping just under it. They weren't recognizing him as an enemy, just an outsider... but still... it was an outward display of wealth, if a deceptively quiet one. And it made him uncomfortable. He hated going into hostile situations nearly as much as he hated going into situations blind. As he shut the gate, he shook himself. This wasn't a hostile situation, at all. Molly Weasley had invited him here to thank him, and that was that. _Hermione_ might explode, but that was typical enough that he knew how to deal with it.

Draco Malfoy walked idly, almost nonchalantly along the hedgerow, his fingers daintily touching just the tips of the branches, soft leaves bending under his fingers. He fought the urge to whistle, it would be undignified, even at the Weasleys' - a clan who epitomized undignified. As Draco approached, about two thirds of the way to the house, Harry Potter stood up on the other side of the hedgerow. Draco fought the urge to scream, or pull a wand, or do anything violent. He was less successful with the urge to leap three feet in the air, though at least he managed to get that down to one foot.

"Potter!" Draco bellowed - glad that he had self-edited out Scarhead, and that he wasn't shrieking like a little girl.

"What?" Harry Potter asked in a dead-normal tone of voice, the innocent look in his eyes all the confirmation that Draco needed to understand that Scarhead hadn't _actually_ meant to scare Draco out of his _skin_.

"Nothing." Draco Malfoy said, acting the part of a cat who had just monumentally muffed a pounce, and now had the sudden urge to pretend it had never happened by licking his paw.

"Guess it's about time for the party to start." Harry said contemplatively.

"Were you just waiting for me out here?" Draco Malfoy sarcastically asked, as his wits returned to his scantly addled brain. "Need a date to the party?"

"I figured you might get cold feet." Harry Potter said, smiling sharply.

"A Malfoy is always at ease, perfectly dignified, and never, ever gets cold feet." Draco Malfoy drawled arrogantly, his eyes smiling, though his mouth was carefully blank.

"At ease while jumping a foot in the air?" Harry Potter said, chuckling roughly - nearly a snort.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Draco Malfoy said, brushing pretend lint off his garments, and strutting forward with his chest puffed out like a poppinjay.

"Now you look like you're eleven again!" Harry Potter said, snorting in amusement. Draco Malfoy responded with a smirk - and suddenly realized that they were almost to the Burrow's long porch. _How had that happened? That hedgerow was at least a quarter mile long!_

Malfoy and Potter climbed the stairs, stepping towards the door as they heard a shout from inside. "I will not Play Nice! It's my house, and that means my rules! _Don't_ try to get me to calm down, Mr. Arthur Weasley." Draco Malfoy had the voice placed after the first sentence - that was Molly Weasley, and she seemed more angry than expected - and the subtext said it was about _him_. Potter hadn't warned Draco at _all_ about this... Annoyed, Draco Malfoy cast a grumpy glance at Potter - only to check himself and his anger. Harry Potter's eyes were wide as saucers, his hand was suspended, nearly about to knock on the door. _That certainly wasn't the look of an ambusher_ , Draco thought, _in fact, I think he's more shocked than I am._

[a/n: never understood why _nobody_ lets Molly Weasley be angry at Draco. She has a temper, and hasn't had a chance to hone it on him at all.

Of course Draco suspects an ambush - wouldn't you?

Write a review, or give me some suggestions for what Molly should do.]


	18. Bless his dear heart

[Title's a traditional Southern American saying, that is lady for fuck that asshole. As the Cavaliers hailed from England, I use it in that spirit.]

Draco Malfoy's eyes were riveted to the door, as it was suddenly flung open by a matronly (that is to say stout. perhaps robust) Molly Weasley. "Come in! Come in!" She bustled, her doughy hands grasping their wrists like heavy manacles, dragging them both inside before Draco Malfoy could ask if there had been perhaps some mistake. Because she hadn't sounded like she wanted him here... It was him she was talking about? Potter certainly seemed to think so...

Molly's heel caught the door and Draco and Harry heard it slam tight behind them, as they both took in Arthur Weasley's faintly worried expression. The harried, henpecked husband looked as if he wanted to intervene, but didn't quite dare to. Draco Malfoy cursed himself for forgetting a Muggle present or two. They would have made the perfect distraction.

"Harry Potter!" Molly said, as she fussed, hugging Draco Malfoy's well-earned (he had been _nice_ , after all! To a Potter, no less!) distraction, as he started to edge out of her vicinity. "You have got to start feeding yourself, boy! Get into the kitchen, there's cauldron cakes on the 'sill!"

Almost, but not quite far enough, Draco Malfoy thought ruefully, as Molly appeared (as if apparating) directly in front of him. He froze, feeling rather like a mouse hypnotized by a snake. "You, Mister Malfoy, haven't had the tour yet, have you?" Molly Weasley said, a calculating expression in her eye - one that quite frankly worried Draco Malfoy. It wasn't like he wasnt able to protect himself from her... the entire brood, though? That would be a different matter entirely. Like it or leave it, Molly Weasley was sacrosanct. And it was her house. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco Malfoy caught Potter's expression. Ah, the tour was a new thing, was it? Just for him? Well, at least that showed how he was going to get a knife in the back. Maybe, if he survived, there wouldn't be poison in the pie. It was always a pity to waste a good cooking on poisoning someone - Draco vastly preferred a poisoned glass of water, when it came down to it. He didn't want to actually admit how often he had been poisoned... that would be to explain exactly how much of a brat he had been, after all. **

"No, Madam Weasley." Draco Malfoy said, making for graceful and articulate, though he wasn't sure he had actually stuck the landing.

"Stick with me, and I'll see you through." Molly said, her hands on his shoulders and propelling him up the stairs.

Draco Malfoy's exclamation of disbelief echoed upwards through the house. With skill borne of long practice, Harry Potter hid a grin. "She won't kill him, will she?"

Arthur Weasley responded, sounding almost forlorn, "I hope not. Dreadfully hard to get blood out of the carpeting."

**Snape. Godfather. Need I say more?

[a/n: Does anyone like humorous Malfoy? Should I keep him?]


	19. Temper the sword, bleed the child

Draco Malfoy was surprised, to say the least, as Molly Weasley showed him into her eldest sons' room. "This was Bill and Charlie's room. oh, you should have seen some of the things they got up to. Why, Bill once found a way to make a clockwork rat, and sent it skittering across the floor. Now, you've heard of Charlie?"

"... the dragontamer?" Draco Malfoy was almost afraid he knew where this story was going. If there was one person who was crazier than Hagrid about animals, it would probably be Charlie.

It was with some relief that Draco was ushered into Percy's room - where at least the anecdotes seemed mostly sane and reasonable reactions to the chaos that the rest of the Weasleys inevitably ushered into Percival Weasley's life. Draco could only sympathize - he'd never been in such a crowded, tight household. He'd certainly have lost his temper well before Percival did (repeatedly. The twins had a talent for twerking the officious young man off). Still, the tale of how Percy had gotten Fred and George run out of Diagon Alley for not having their cauldron bottoms at the proper thickness was the perfect touch of humble boringness and cunning that any Slytherin could admire.

Draco Malfoy would have made some excuse, found some reason why - done practically _anything_ to not enter the Terrible Twins room (by his honor as a Slytherin, there would be traps galore. And he hadn't the desire to come out looking polka-spotted, or something. That was _terrible_ for the dignity). But, as it was, the Malfoy matron was behind him - and he could have sworn he saw Potter glancing up at them from downstairs. And he wouldn't look a coward in front of Potter. _Never_ again. So, He stepped in the room, letting out a soft sigh as he craned to find a mirror, wanting to check for at least visible evidence of traps or tribulations.

It took Molly Weasley nearly an hour to finish telling stories about her twins. Some of them were certainly inventive enough - a few had Draco wishing he had the temerity to take notes. And then, nearly as she was done, a thought came drifting in - _maybe, this could be useful, after all..._

Most of the stories about Ron were about spiders, or more about Harry Potter than the young man. Which, as far as Draco Malfoy was concerned, was just and good and just good sense. Ron himself was nothing to sneeze over, so why not keep the story train going...? Still, Draco Malfoy chided himself, should he be figuring out how this revenge thing was going to happen? Unless her plan was to _bore_ him to death? Which, to be honest, really was both a terrible plan - and not working. Draco Malfoy had plenty of experience with trite stories - and being told the same ones over and over and over again. A goodly handful of these were at least entertaining, which was impressive, considering the source.

Draco just hoped that the last bedroom wouldn't feature any commentary on Lucius Malfoy and his infernal plan to entrap the Weasley's youngest.

[a/n: Is Molly just trying to get Draco to drop his guard? Write me a review, please!]


	20. Sword of Damocles, meet Gordians Knot

Draco Malfoy stepped into the Weaselette's room with a bracing breath, huffing it out lightly so as to not seem nervous. Not only did he have what sounded like an enemy at his back, but he was stepping into a girl's room without permission. Pansy'd have hexed him to bits, and never-you-mind that she hadn't lived in her childhood room for ten years now. From the sound of it, Gin Weasley had been quite the spoiled little tot, squealing over hurt bruises and generally being spoiled by everyone older than her. Perfect companion for Potter, eh? The lad who was so 'selfless' as to never want a dash of the fame that was due him. Sometimes, Draco Malfoy considered, he was too hard on Potty. Then he remembered that Potter had nearly killed him 'on accident.' Such blithering idiocy - typically Gryffindor. Slytherins knew far more subtle ways to screw up their lives, he thought, and this is just one prime example. Who would have ever expected me to be inside the Weasels house? In a thousand thousand lifetimes, my eleven year old self would never have believed that payback for baiting Weasley would ever be in the cards.

Draco's ears perked up as Molly started in on the story of Gin's unlucky crush on Potter, how shy she had been, the love poems (pickled toad, of all things! Draco filed it away for future reference, after all, he might by the end of this figure Potter had done enough to deserve a Christmas Card. A witty, sardonic love letter would probably have even Gryffindors in stitches... Well, Ron might not get the joke. But that was as usual.) The next story did indeed involve his father, but only mentioned in passing. Draco busied himself with staring at the wall (watching Gin as seeker in a picture), as he listened to Molly's tales of her daughter crying constantly, devastated to be separated from the Dark Lord Voldemort. Draco had always known the girl was odd (she had to be, she was with Potter, of all people).

But no, the tour wasn't over yet, not even after stories about Gin nearly running off to track Potter and the Trio down. Now, they started in on the bathroom. Who had stories about a bathroom? Apparently, Molly Weasley did. There was "The first time Bill got Drunk" which featured an overly explicit description of vomit... "When Fred and George got two pranks mixed up, and they couldn't stop singing "Rubber Ducky," and how Arthur's supervisor was visiting, and they had to be hid." "The time that Potter tried to scrub his scar off" (Draco was starting to wonder if she was just making some of them up - one look at her earnest face (and the description of blood flowing down potter's face and coloring his glasses in the middle) convinced him otherwise).

And on to the kitchen, where Molly's magic was pulling out some appetizers from the oven - which Draco was quite frankly afraid to touch. Luckily, she didn't offer - and Draco wasn't so stupid as to even come close. "You didn't try to steal one." Molly inserted into the middle of a story, somehow managing to sound reproachful and approving at the same time. Daphne would have approved - she was the only one that Draco knew who could pull off the more peculiar of the Slytherin looks, and look graceful while doing it.

When they went into the living room, Potter and Mr. Weasley were busy talking, sparing only a concerned glance (were they more concerned for my safety or hers? possibly hers after mine was called into question...). Draco Malfoy was with difficulty holding his tongue by this point. Really, the sheer number of stories (and banged up furniture) was enough to fill up a novel by itself.

Wait, they were going to do the basement next? Draco thought, as he was ushered down into the dank basement, hoping that there weren't any spiders. Not that he was afraid of spiders, but there were few wizards who liked having them crawl all over them (Hagrid being an obvious exception).

"Now, you look here, you Malfoy brat." Molly said, pinning Draco against the wall with her arm skillfully crossing his windpipe. He didn't miss that she could be choking him but was choosing not to. "This is my house, and I'll not have you insulting it. I understand you may never have entered it before, but that doesn't give you any right to throw out insults. It may not be as grand as yours, but it's full of love, and stories, and life."

Draco Malfoy mentally braced himself to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Seriously, she was going to give him some Gryffindor tripe? If the whole "tell him every story the bloody house has ever had" didn't work, did she really expect moralizing to?

"Yesm," Draco ground out, as she quickly released him from the wall.

"Ron isn't the only one with the Weasley temper. Say something about my house again, and we'll be having more than words." Draco didn't like that glint in her eyes. It promised pain.

Draco Malfoy straightened himself, using the time to wipe any signs of panick or fear from his bearing. He _would_ look the gentleman, even in this dank and mouldy cellar. "Madam Weasley, It would appear I owe you an apology. When I was a child, I behaved as a child - with little thought for the impact of my behavior on anyone save myself - and, on occasion, the people around me. I truly meant no disrespect towards you or your fine house." At that, Molly snorted, her wandhand waving threateningly (though Draco would in seconds realize that she was just removing something from the oven). "I _meant_ to rile up Weasley, who made himself an easy - and hence amusing - target. I owe you no apologies for that - particularly in light of the fact that he was as apt to insult me back." If considerably less creatively, Draco swallowed back. He did not _want_ to get hexed, but it was hard to keep his cleverer comments to himself. "Truthfully, your house is larger and more opulent than the Crabbes' house, and I was friends with their son throughout school. Wealth didn't mean a thing to me." Oh, a larger lie had never been spoken! Draco thought, carefully hiding the mischief behind a serious bearing. "You must allow me to thank you for telling me all these stories." Interminable though they may have been, I got the point after the third bedroom. "Through it, I have learned that a small, well-lived house is apt to be far more personal than a large and spacious one. Certainly if you set me in half the rooms in Malfoy Manor, I could perhaps tell you about the history - but not a thing about them being lived in." Largely because half the rooms weren't. It was designed for a large family, and his had been quite small. It had been a vast treasure trove he loved exploring when he was small - but as he grew older it got steadily more lonely.

[a/n: Up next: dinner.]


	21. Sunlight in a Mauve Kitchenette

Draco emerged, blinking, from the cellar - forcibly resisting the urge to look backwards, to look at all paranoid. Even though a declared enemy was at his back. Well, there were times when you sued for peace - and even occasional times when that worked. He'd just have to hope that this was one of them - because he'd be damned if he'd look the coward by running away now. After all, they hadn't even had dinner yet.

His eyes clearing, Draco Malfoy straightened, brushing the cellar's grime off his clothes (good thing Madame Weasley was so old, he didn't need her family thinking he'd been shagging her in the basement). He had emerged into the kitchen, and he watched the whole place with an experienced eye. He knew charms, if not these in particular. And the speed and swiftness of the preparing meal was indeed impressive. He stepped aside to allow Madame Weasley space to surface from the darkness behind him, with a muttered "Pardon" at his own tardiness, which he didn't think was too lengthy.

Madame Weasley surfaced, indeed, her eyes not bothering to adjust before she was spinning spells, the strands of magic humming as she started in on another phase of the meal preparations. Striding quickly, Draco moved himself to the other edge of the room, with his back against the wall near the doorframe to the dining room. "Impressive." He said, admiringly - his mother had never needed such skills, but his eyes glistened with avarice nonetheless.

"Very much so," Harry Potter added, his voice nearly at Draco's ear. Draco stiffened - he couldn't help that - but he restrained himself from jumping a foot in the air. How had Potter, of all people, managed to sneak up to him like that? Draco mentally shook himself - he needed to be more careful. Not as careful as he had been during the War, perhaps, but more careful. He was not among only allies here - even if, should push come to shove, he would test the diaphanous bond between himself and Potter before he'd _ever_ turn his back to Molly Weasley. Hopefully the situation wasn't as dire as all that.

Still feigning study of the spoons and knives swinging through the air, Draco Malfoy said almost absentmindedly, "That's a duplication charm - but warped, just a bit."

"Just enough to fit two slightly differently sized pots." Potter said. Draco Malfoy responded with an absent nod, his eyes sharp and studying the spellwork intently. Or so it would seem, at any rate. His mind was more occupied with positioning, wordchoice, and tone. As the food began to plate itself, Potter stepped slightly in front of Draco, obscuring his view just a bit. "We'd better get to the dining room. It's almost time for dinner." Draco's sleet-grey eyes took a level glance at Potter, before nodding in agreement. Draco followed after Potter, eschewing the status that entering first would give him, in favor of getting a better view of the lay of the land - before he sent the whole map tumbling to the floor.

[a/n: I like reviews! Won't you write one please?

Up next is dinner. In which Draco attempts to decide how many ways Molly could kill him, and in which Hermione Granger devises a few more that sneaky Slytherins would consider unseemly.]


	22. From stage right, without a stage

Dinner was set, and Draco Malfoy dropped into a seat with a minimal amount of decorum. Which is to say he merely flopped, he did not slouch, or slump, or do anything other than look perfect.

An effect that was neatly ruined by the next two people to enter the room. The Weasley twins materialized on either side of Draco Malfoy, and he caught himself trying to decide which one to look at... or curse. _This is a friendly gathering. At least I hope it is so. I am not going to draw my wand, nor curse people, no matter how surprised I am._ These thoughts might explain why Draco Malfoy was a little late in dodging the twin hands that fell on his shoulders. They would not, however, explain the look on Draco's face, as he swiftly transformed into a swan.

"I think it worked!" One twin said.

"Oww!" The other twin replied as Draco Malfoy beak grabbed him by the nose, gripping painfully.

"Oi! I think he's more of a prat like this!" The other cried out, entirely unsympathetic.

The first twin responded in a nasal tone, "Well, at least we know his brain works."

Leaning forward, the second twin responded, "Shall we check to see if all his bits are intact?"

Draco used his wings to begin beating both of the twins, who were shrieking less in fear and more in delight at their handicrafts.

"Wings work! Check!"

"Shall we check feet next?"

"Sure, my brother!" At which point Draco found himself swung around by the belly. He was so startled by both the whirling motion (and the surprisingly gentle grasp on his light body) that he removed his grip on the one twin's nose.

It was at this point that Draco Malfoy found himself thinking he really ought to see if he could fly. A flap or two of his wings, and he was sitting on top of the corner cupboard, the two twins looking more unkempt than before.

Harry Potter stepped in the door (actually leaned against the doorframe, Draco thought crossly. He didn't _appreciate_ it when Potter copied his moves), eyed the entire situation and said, "A Swan? Why not a peacock?"

"And let him strut around like that?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Besides, mum would want tailfeathers for dusting."

The two twins eyed Draco, who in turn eyed them skeptically from on top of the cupboard.

"Twa corbies..." One began to sing.

"No, that's not it! That's about crows!"

"Oh, this'll be my swansong..." The first twin began, horribly out of tune.

The other twin joined in, just as out of tune (rather violently) in the opposite direction.

Draco Malfoy landed, rather crossly, on the table. As one, the twins stopped singing and clasped their hands on his wingshoulders.

Human again, Draco Malfoy stretched for a moment, before hopping off of the table. Draco turned his pointed nose down at the twins, as he said crossly, "You could have just asked me to come down, rather than subjecting the rest of us to that awful caterwauling you call singing."

It was at that point that Ron and Hermione Granger walked in. Ron simply eyed Draco, pulling a feather off his collar, and said, " 'lo, food soon?" Apparently Weasley wasn't much of a conversationalist when food was nearby. Not that Draco could blame him much - they hadn't many fond memories to reminisce about.

Hermione Granger, on the other hand, had started by sending him a basilisk's glare (nearly as bad as his father's), and had progressed to squawking, "What's _he_ doing here?"

Which, apparently, was one straight line too many for the twins, who descended upon her like the aforementioned two crows (redheaded crows? What a thought!). With a sigh of relief at the unexpected buffer, Draco Malfoy quietly took up a corner seat - hopefully closer to the host than the hostess. Not that it mattered. This way he'd have half the chance of sitting beside Granger. Which looked to be a most excellent plan, as the twins weren't doing anything to soften Granger's anger. Draco Malfoy really didn't see what she had to be angry about... but, no doubt, she would enlighten him in due time.

[a/n: twins got loose again. I apologize, I'm none too good with writing them, but they do keep romping into stories. This will be the third they hopped into!

Do write a review.]


	23. Bored Bored Bored

As dinner was nearly served, everyone clambered into the house, and collected in seats around the dining table. Draco welcomed the intrusions, as the more people were there, the less likely Hermione would actually manage to set him aflame with her eyes. Draco _bet_ she knew a spell for that too. Hermione seemed to be dividing her glares between Harry and Draco (apparently she was holding Harry responsible for Draco's attendance). Draco had to brace himself before eating, reminding himself that Molly Weasley couldn't possibly be willing to murder him at the table. If nothing else, the sprawled corpse would upset everyone else's digestion.

Of course, she was still the mother to the twins, and with that thought, Draco conjured half a dozen different ailments that he could be subjected to (some subtle, most embarrasing, and a few that were utterly overt and would _never_ be thought of again.) Closing his eyes, he took a gentle bite of the chicken with mint sauce, savoring the dish. It actually tasted pretty good. He opened his eyes to find everyone at the table staring at him (the room having gone mysteriously quiet). Granger, of all people, smirked and said, "Mikey likes it!" The hubub started up again, with Draco shaking his head in bemusement. Looking at Percy sitting next to him, he whispered loudly, "Tell me she remembers my name's not Mikey..." Granger nearly doubled over with laughter, as Percy shot Draco a superior look, as if to say, "don't be a dimwit." Perce continued in his most officious tone, "Of course, she knows that. It's undoubtedly a reference, if one I'm unfamiliar with."

The dinner continued (there were actually two tables, Draco was mildly startled to realize - the child's table was set up beside the main one, and took up part of the distance to the living room. Draco Malfoy listened to what seemed like thousands of stories about babies. Fleur, especially, was prone to droning on about her children. Draco Malfoy had tried to chide her in French for talking about the little ones so much, but Bill responded back that it was a mother's perogative and could Draco Malfoy please use a language that everyone could understand? Draco was certain that it was the look on his face, and not the spoken words, that had Ron in stitches.

About midway through the main course, Draco spoke up, asking, "I'm certain this is all very fascinating, but I expected to hear more tales of derring-do from Gryffindors. Some gossip, something with a little bit more flavor. After all, Granger here says she's flown out of Gringotts on a Dragon!"

The entire table was speechless, before Gin, of all people ground out, "Where'd you hear that, Malfoy?"

"It's truthsworn from the Ministry, not the paper, if that's what you're getting at. Though I'm not sure why anyone would think that would count as a sterling reference for a desk job at the ministry. You'd be surprised at just how easy it is to look through the Ministry's resumes, even the ones from years ago."

Art Weasley spoke up, saying gruffly, "We don't talk about stuff like that, because there are children at the table. Unless you'd care to spend the night soothing children back to sleep from nightmares, Mister Malfoy?"

The weasley twins gave grins to one another saying, "He'll spend the night!"

Draco Malfoy rolled his eyes at them, as he merely nodded quietly, "I'd prefer to keep the snotnosed brats off my person, if you please."

"So wait until after dinner before bringing up anything... unusual, no?" Ron said affably. Harry, for whatever reason, was trying to hide his face entirely within his cup. Draco's eyes bulged at the silliness of this endeavor. Nothing like seeing the Savior of the Wizarding World attempting to disappear into a cup to brighten my day, he thinks, smirking at the sight.

[a/n: I think one more chapter of this dinner. Yawn. Me hates chaos, and wants to get back to the plot. What? Five more weeks of digressions? Bah! Plot now!

Write reviews, it'll convince me to write more on this story, and not the eight others I'm working on!]


	24. Hermione's Angle

The pleasant thought of dinner at the Weasleys had been irrevocably shattered from the moment she had entered the dining room to see Malfoy sitting there at the table, as mild as milk. Hermione had alternated between glaring at Harry (who seemed to have decided, inexplicably, to forgo all differences with Malfoy), Ron, who also seemed strangely unsurprised to have Malfoy visiting, and Malfoy himself.

He had been mercifully quiet most of the meal (and took the Twins pranking in stride, which was a godsend, as those two were much more likely to double down if they knew they had gotten under your skin.)

And then he had asked That Question. And everyone had shot her the strangest looks, and abruptly Hermione had felt like she was back in First Year, and all on the outs with absolutely everyone. How dare he have asked something like that? And after having read her accounts, to want to know more? Inquisitive bastard.

And now? Now that bastard was upstairs, with the Twins. That boded ill, if ever something did. Hermione was glad to see Molly Weasley frowning, and even Arthur looking slightly uneasy. Hermione just wanted to take an icepick to Malfoy's platinum skull and see if she could pry out what _exactly_ he was thinking!

[a/n: and I'm ending the scene here, as the rest is pretty boring. Hermione leaves with Ron (due to some discrete nudging by Mr. Potter), and Malfoy doesn't know how close he came to Peak Hermione Rage. Next up, Monday-

if you like this story, leave a review please. Or if you hate it.]


	25. Opportunity to Socialize

Draco Malfoy had arrived early at work - five in the morning, to be precise. So, it was with some suprrise that he noted Hermione Granger already in her office, spinning around in her chair. She tilted her head up at him and said coldly, "I hope you enjoyed the weekend's social gatherings. I'm afraid you won't have much time for them this week."

"Cancel all dates - work coming through like a freight train?" Draco Malfoy ventured cautiously.

"You catch my meaning precisely. Thank you Mikey." Hermione Granger smiled, and laid a rather heavy stack of paper on the desk in front of him. "These need to be sorted by priority. Have them done by lunchtime, Mikey."

Draco Malfoy fought down the natural urge to bristle, and the equally natural urge to shout "who the fuck is Mikey?" - Draco hated to be left out of things, and to be left out of a joke was especially pathetic. Slowly, he suppressed a smirk, and said, "Yes, your majesty." As he turned away,his back was rewarded with a fiery glare (and a huff which he heard).

He set the papers gently on his table, and headed towards the balcony. As expected, there were quite a few owls waiting. Fishing out a neat packet of owl treats, he set to gathering letters, and swiftly stuck them under the pile of "assignments" that Granger had given him.

Ha! He'd show her.

* * *

Lunchtime saw a deliverygirl show up with takeaway, as Draco Malfoy kindly (if coldly) thanked her for her time - his slate-grey eyes never rising from the work he was doing. The runes were a complex craft, and he wasn't about to divide his attention.

The scent of cumin brought Hermione Granger out of her office. Sniffing, she asked, "What's on the menu?"

"I honestly have no idea. I just ordered the Mexican Special. Tasty though." Draco said, looking up with a half-moustache of tomato sauce on his face from the enchilada he was eating.

Hermione came over and said with a smile, "Why, that looks like enchiladas..."

"Surely it's not vermin!" Draco said, paling slightly and inspecting the food with a far more skeptical eye.

"No, not chinchillas, enchiladas" Hermione said, her slow enunciation of the last word very reminiscent of her eleven year old self.

"Arrogant lass," Draco Malfoy spat, as he took another bite, looking less upset.

Hermione, in the meantime, had come to stand at his shoulder, looking over the pile of work that she had given to him - and noticing two things. First, that the pile of work had dwindled by a third (he was supposed to be completing the paperwork, not destroying it!). Second, that he was certainly not working on paperwork now. Were those - runes? With a puzzled look on her face, Hermione Granger asked, "Draco Malfoy, what are you working on?"

Draco Malfoy looked up at her with a frown, before hastily covering the page. Luckily, there was no fresh ink on there, so it wouldn't smear. "I can't tell you that. Nondisclosure Agreement."

Hermione Granger's eyes turned into a glare, and she demanded, "Why has a full third of your paperwork disappeared?"

"Clear your schedule for tommorrow, Granger. I've got you listed for fifteen appointments." Malfoy passed her a neatly scrawled page, before tapping his quill against his mouth in thought. On the fresh page that he had used to cover the other page, he began drawing runes in a weird sort of pattern.

Hermione Granger nearly had to bite her lip in frustration. She wanted to know about what he was working on, blast his bloody hide! Yet, he clearly wasn't going to tell her - not that she believed in the slightest that he wasn't allowed to. Slytherins were always breaking rules, weren't they just?

Grumpily, she glanced down at the paper, and froze. These were... fifteen... parents of werechildren. Hermione Granger had spent months trying to get them to even so much as talk to her. Somehow, in the past week, Malfoy had managed to get them to agree. Hermione had been hoping for eight, maybe ten! Fifteen! Hermione's eyes had gone wide at the sight. "What, exactly, did you have to do to get these, Malfoy?" Her voice was excited, quiet, and demanding all at once.

"Used your name." Draco Malfoy said, looking up (now with some of that enchilada sauce dripping down his cheek). "Did you really think any of them would open a letter from the Assistant Undersecretary for the Ministry's Department of _Control_ of Magical Creatures?" Draco shook his head wryly.

"That was all?" Hermione Granger said, stunned.

Draco looked up, and with one tomato spattered hand, pointed to several names on the list. "These are the ones that I need to show up with you. Apparently some of them recognized my hand." Finally grabbing a napkin from the takeaway bag, Draco cleaned his face and hands, before looking at Hermione, "Other than those, I can cover for you at whatever meetings you _absolutely can't miss_."

Hermione opened her mouth, undoubtedly to insist that all her meetings were essential, when Draco waved his finger in front of her nose. "Uh-uh. You go to five times the number of meetings that most people do, and Frankie attends every meeting imaginable (of course, he's doing a third of your workload)." Draco paused for a moment, lacing his hands together and leaning back in his chair. Tilting his head up to look at Hermione (who was still standing behind him), "Do you want my notes, or Frankie's?"

"Frankie's. He knows more about the history of most of the projects." Hermione Granger said, the last part tumbling out of her mouth - and she found herself strangely relieved that Draco hadn't taken offense.

"I'll schedule a meeting to corner Frankie on Wednesday, then." Draco Malfoy said, "Now if you'll excuse me, I still have fifteen minutes on my break."

Hermione Granger stalked off, her mouth thinned to a line, promising herself that she _would_ figure out what Draco Malfoy was up to.

[a/n: These two drive each other up the wall. Isn't terribly intentional, either.

Leave me a review, if you please.]


	26. Tyrsday

Hermione Granger got to work at 7am, and considered that she was taking a slow start to the morning. She looked down at her desk, and pursed her lips, looking at the series of meetings that she had to go to. Flooing to people's houses always seemed so invasive. Well, if you weren't the Malfoys, who undoubtedly had a full room set aside just for entrances. Hermione Granger thought with a smirk, _possibly another room for grand entrances._

Halfway till eight, Hermione started to wonder where Draco was - their first appointment was at 8:15, after all. If he was planning on welching on this, Hermione was going to throttle him...

Draco bustled in the door at precisely eight - did he time that - waiting outside until it was just time? Hermione Granger wondered. Or was he just naturally punctual? Looking out her door, Hermione caught the look of one of the office ladies, smiling as she sashayed away. Probably not the latter then, Hermione Granger thought, glad that her door had silencing charms on it (activated when closed). Hermione let out a small sigh of gladness, only then raising her eyes to meet Draco Malfoy.

Hermione blinked, and then blinked again. Somehow, Draco Malfoy had managed to make himself more elegant and formal than she was used to. It had to be in the small things, as Hermione Granger couldn't detect any changes. Even the color of his suit was the same.**

Draco, she asked, Why are there stars beside some of these meetings?

"Those are the people who insisted that I come with you. You might want to let me do more of the talking with them." Draco Malfoy said with a superior smirk that set Hermione's teeth instinctively on edge.

"Why would a werewolf want to talk with you, specifically?" Hermione said, her mouth curling down into a frown.

"You'll see. Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, now would I?" Draco Malfoy said, as he offered her his arm. Hermione sent a glare at him, as he said, "We really should be going, if you don't want to be late. And that would spoil your reputation so, wouldn't it?"

Hermione Granger found herself standing, as tall and regal as she could, as she said, "indeed."

The first two meetings were with cringing werewolves, almost pathetically grateful to be given a third chance to talk with Hermione Granger, War Hero. They indicated that they'd be very very pleased with anything that she could do - if there was any way she could get them work, of even the most menial variety... The eagerness in their eyes sickened Hermione - and though Draco hid it better, it sickened him as well. They were people, if not human, and at least deserved _some_ dignity. He well remembered what happened to people robbed of their dignity.

The third meeting was when Hermione Granger discovered exactly why Draco Malfoy had been asked for by name. "Draco" the lady shrieked, and Malfoy took her hand, and knelt to kiss it (skillfully avoiding a fullbody hug with that vile perfume, if Draco said so himself.) The entire meeting continued along that vein, easily lasting three times as long as the others (Draco had expected this, so he had budgeted four times the others' time). She cooed as she signed the petition, saying, "Thank you so much for joining me for tea, and you must come again." Draco muttered something noncommital.

Hermione Granger took them through the floo, to her office - apparently Draco Malfoy had been unable to impress upon her the purpose and point of arriving early.

... or not, as Draco Malfoy stepped out of the floo, the door was slamming shut in front of him. "Draco - did you just flirt her into signing this petition?"

"It would appear that I did." Draco Malfoy said, with a slow smile.

"Don't you have- Errrh! - I don't know why I put up with you!?"

"Because you care, and because I don't misfile the paperwork." Draco said with a twitch of his lips. "Besides, if she was really against it, she'd have played hard to get. Could probably have gotten a kiss out of it, honestly."

Hermione Granger just stared at him.

"But, seriously, have you ever smelled a perfume so vile? It won't come off!" Draco said with a white-eyed sigh, and then said, "Next appointment, stay sharp. This one's Slytherin."

"How did she even know it was you writing the letter? You didn't sign it..." Hermione said, refusing to be put off.

Draco let out a longsuffering sigh - used to women who would not be put off, as his mother and aunt were definitely both of that vein. "Five years ago, I inadvertently left a third year potions homework in the common room - I had been meaning to lend it to someone as a favor. Someone posted it to Witches Weekly, and they published it."

"They published your potions homework?" Hermione Granger asked, stifling a guffaw.

"I know, really? Apparently some people saved that issue..." Draco Malfoy said, thinking the extremely bored Wizarding public had an unrivaled lust for anything Malfoy. It got tiresome sometimes, really.

**amazing what pressing a bespoke suit can do. Hermione's really just not the type to pay attention to fashion.

[Tuesday. Unless you want more of the conversations. Write me a review.]


	27. Time for Tea, Apparently

Draco arrived first at the next location, spinning through the floo with a flourish, his wandless magic skillfully removing the ash from his charcoal gray suit. Not that it would have shown much, anyway. Granger arrived with the typical grace of a Muggleborn, which is to say not any at all. She fell into the ash, climbed to her feet, and was about to bend down to swipe her hands across her ashy knees (doing nothing for her shins, of course), when the master of the house sent a smooth spell at her, spinning all the ash up and away from her.

It was almost gallant. And almost elegant.

Unfortunately, the Master of the house had not thought of Granger's perpetual problems with her hair. Tamed into a braid, it was almost normal looking... but when blown about, the hairs stuck all out of the braid - and more strikingly, all out of her head. It was as if she was holding a Vandergraff generator. Draco Malfoy couldn't help himself. He tried, really. His face grew a smirk, and then an open smile, and then he was chuckling - all perfectly silently.

Beside him, Hermione Granger graced him with a most perfect glare. How _dare_ he laugh at her!? If it wasn't bad enough to have lost this much dignity, Malfoy was laughing at her!

Across from them, the Master of the House's face was slowly turning ... puce. "I am so sorry! You must allow me to apologize! I'll have it fixed in a trice!" And so he did, his hands on Hermione Granger's shoulders, as he used his wand to spritz her hair with water, and a comb that had materialized out of nowhere to fix it.

Draco Malfoy watched impassively, as a kernel of concern was growing inside his liver. It had something to do with how the Slytherin kept glancing at him, as if expectantly. What sort of reaction was he trying to provoke? Draco wondered wildly. Not that it mattered, Draco was pretty adept at keeping his opinions to himself.

"All better!" The master of the house said with a wide grin.

"I am so honored to make the acquaintance of Hermione Granger, noted war heroine," The man gushed, grabbing her arm. Draco Malfoy, despite his resolution not to make an arse out of himself by showing his emotions, nearly winced at that. He remembered the day that his mad aunt Bella had carved letters into that arm. Mudblood. His daft aunt had been too crazy to even understand the word, only its connotations of lack of purity. Then again, Vince and Greg hadn't understood it either, and they'd not spent the last ten years in Azkaban. **

"And you are?" Hermione Granger asked crisply, and Draco had to admire her ability to not flinch. He wondered, somewhat idly, if the scar still hurt. He was pretty sure she hadn't had it removed - though he hadn't been so daft as to ask.

"Grant Lexington" he said with a smile. "Here, sit down, and you can tell me everything about this proposed ruling."

Hermione sat gracefully, and launched into her schpiel, but his hand didn't release hers, and in fact, Grant seemed to be uncomfortably close to Hermione Granger - not that Granger, in her excitement, was letting any "personal space" issues cloud her enthusiasm. Draco eyed them warily, thinking that he really ought to do something about that. There was, after all, nothing in Granger's job description that included letting marks eye her nonexistant clevage. And what was up with Grant eyeing Draco like that? Something, somehow, was wrong. Draco just wasn't sure what.

After about five minutes of watching Grant eye Hermione like a piece of meat, Draco Malfoy said, "Mister Lexington, did you catch the part about restraining orders? Can you tell me how far back to stand?"

Grant Lexington looked at Draco, baffled that he was still there - and more baffled that he was being quizzed. He blinked twice, and said, "I might be a little fuzzy on the details."

Draco Malfoy sent him a piercing look, carrying the distinct air of 'not amused in the slightest', before he bowed, gracefully. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, certainly." Mister Lexington said, smiling gratefully at the other man. From the light in his eyes, Mister Lexington looked like he thought Yule had come early, and it would momentarily be time to start opening presents. (By which, it was understood by all in the room, he meant Mademoiselle Granger).

Hermione Granger sent Draco a look that was part panic, and part pure loathing. Obviously upset about being abandoned in a room with Mister Handsy, Draco thought wryly. Poor lass needs to develop a better sense of trust (she had trusted Ron Weasley, after all).

Draco exited the room, and with a practiced air, whirled the water hot and set the teabasket inside. With his wand, he levitated the cups and saucers, and sugar and milk, and laid the tea out on the platter. In a matter of moments, he was ready to return.

With a quick flourish, he pulled the tea out of the water and placed it on the table to drip. What did he care if the cad had a waterspot on the table? Besides, if the man was so crass as to complain about a Ministry employee, well, Draco'd pay for it personally.

The look of pure relief on Hermione Granger's face was priceless, as Draco stepped back into the room to find Grant holding Granger by the shoulders, whispering something in her ear.

"How do you take your tea?" Draco asked, from directly behind Grant Lexington's ear. It was rather gratifying to see the man jump.

With an air of practiced indifference, Draco Malfoy fixed the tea, and offered it first to the master of the house. Mister Lexington looked up at Draco, confused at the lack of manners. Draco merely smirked.

"Your tea, Mademoiselle," Draco said with a small but genuine smile. As Granger went to take the tea, Draco's hand 'slipped', spilling tea all over her white blouse. "Oh, my, I'm ineffably sorry!" Draco Malfoy saw Granger's eye quirk at the wording. Well and good, she could take a hint - and keep it on the low down, too.

"Your manservant is dreadfully incompetent. You might want to consider getting a new one." Mister Lexington said huffily.

"Oh, haven't I introduced you? This is Draco Malfoy, my assistant at the Ministry." Hermione Granger said with a glassy edge on her voice.

"Is he out on probation? How delightfully droll!" Mister Lexington said.

"You might say that." Hermione Granger said, pretending to sip out of the tea cup that was completely empty. "Or you might say that I am on probation, for my role in stealing something from Gringotts. We are both fully charged members of the Ministry, and charged with both creating and upholding its laws."

"Granger, go upstairs to the washroom and fix your shirt before it stains." Draco Malfoy said smoothly, the tone of command distinct in his voice, "I'll take it from here." And so he did, not missing the gleam of disappointment in Grant's eyes as Hermione disappeared upstairs. Satisified that whatever it was that Grant had wanted, he hadn't gotten, Draco Malfoy sat back and began to fill Grant in, at length and with Granger's typical verbosity, about the entire history of the law, the good it would do, and everything else even possibly pertinent. Draco Malfoy bit back a cynical comment as he noticed that Grant hadn't listened to a single word Granger had said.

They left about two hours late, but Draco Malfoy was perversely satisfied.

**There's a little more to the word than "dirty blood." It's my AU, after all.

[a/n: Leave a review. Feel free to guess what I'm doing with mudblood]


	28. Or Die Trying

Draco Malfoy had known something was wrong, but he hadn't quite grasped the seriousness of it all. Sitting here in a werewolf's parlor (remembering the old nursery rhyme), he found himself wishing for an application of searing fire - as the werewolf in question was busy seeing exactly how many of her limbs she could drape over him, all while asking him dozens of questions about the Act Granger was trying to get passed.

Which, Draco was deadly certain, would have been quite tolerable, if Matilda had actually cared a whit about the law. No, her entire aim here appeared to be seeing if she could possibly get into Draco's robes - and preferably with the wine and Sunday Dinner, thankyouverymuch.

Hermione Granger, for her part, appeared to be enjoying Draco's misery. Draco smothered the urge to give her a deathglare, with a silent _Later_ to himself. While at work (and especially when a guest of a man-eating werewolf), one must be professional at all times and to all people.

"Can I get you both some tea? Pardon the intrusion, but you seem so involved in the intricacies of the law." Hermione Granger said sweetly, in a voice that would have sent alarm bells running along a younger Draco Malfoy's brain. Not that they weren't ringing, now, but Draco Malfoy sent her a glare clearly intended to say _Traitor_ , as she smiled at them both before heading towards the kitchen.

Draco Malfoy paid more heed to Hermione Granger's clattering in the kitchen than the overly nasal tones of Matilda (he could not believe he had found someone with a more obnoxious voice than Hermione Granger, but apparently infinity had been overturned by endlessness, and he was going to die with her nasal screeching in his ears.)

Draco Malfoy heard the clickety clack of Hermione Granger's flats arriving back out of the kitchen, and it was perhaps that moment of inattention that allowed Matilda to fasten her lips upon his cheek. Draco Malfoy froze, definitely more in horror than delight.

Suddenly, a rain of tea-dark water** landed on Draco's shoulder and lap. Draco Malfoy looked up, expression horrified, only to look into Hermione Granger's implacable brown eyes. "Ooops." she said in an utterly transparent lie.

"I really should wash this out." Draco Malfoy said, standing - incidentally giving Matilda a shove back onto her own chair, while managing to not quite breech the rules of etiquette. He hissed at Granger as he stalked by, "Copycat."

Unamused and unaffected, Granger lifted her teacup to him as she said primly, "Turnabout is fair play." Turning to Matilda, she continued from exactly where Draco had left off (had she been waiting to see what would happen? Find the 'best' time?). Her bubbly voice followed Draco upstairs as he found the W.C.

After Draco Malfoy had assured himself that he was perfectly clean and that his white dress shirt would not be teastained in the slightest, he frowned thoughtfully at the mirror. It had almost seemed... Matilda was disappointed with... something. Which was an odd expression on the face of someone who wanted to win his fair heart. Still feeling that slight air of unease, Draco Malfoy strolled down the staircase, stopping at the bottom to lounge against a wall (discretely out of Matilda's line of sight) until the excessively detailed description of the Act was over, and Matilda had signed.

"Draco! I didn't see you there... I want to know just what you think of the rationing in this plan? Do you approve of bounded territories?" Matilda said, leaning up at him.

Draco uncrossed his legs, standing abruptly from his normal lounging pose against the wall. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we must be going." Matilda responded with a pout.

**I'm borrowing from homer here.

[a/n: write me a review, please?]


	29. Your other aunt

The rest of the day passed mostly without incident, although Draco Malfoy swore he was getting sideeyed glances from some of the people they were meeting with.

They were running late, though - courtesy of Granger's ability to talk anyone's ear off about anything she was passionate about. She was normally a pleasure to watch (lively lass, indeed!), but by the fifteenth iteration of the exact same subject matter, Draco Malfoy was thoroughly bored, and so it was with a sigh of relief that he passed through the floo back to the ministry.

Hermione Granger was waiting for him, her eyes asparkle with vim - her hands clasped onto his shoulders, and she said, "We did it! Fourteen signatures and a maybe! That's enough to get this in the queue!"

Draco Malfoy, still a little stunned by the unexpected physical contact, managed a smug smile and nodded. "We did." he said gravely.

"Oh, my that thing with the tea!" Hermione gushed, giggling like a seven year old Pansy Parkinson (Draco did not have fond memories of that, but it somehow felt a good deal more charming on someone ten years older and a good deal more responsible).

"Copycat." Draco Malfoy hissed at her, still half disbelieving that she'd actually poured tea into a witch's lap!

Hermione dropped her hands from his shoulders, stepping towards him as she said primly, "Turnabout is fair play."

Naturally, this was the exact moment that Ron Weasley stepped in the door. "What exactly is going on here?" Ron said flatly, his mouth curling into a half-awkward smile.

Draco turned towards Ron, gracefully stepping a good foot further from the Weasel's girlfriend. "Just corrupting another Gryffindor." Draco drawled, his body loose as it generally was when he insulted Ron. Not that he really wanted to get into a scrap in the office (there were papers that he'd have to resort, after all...)...

Ron Weasley walked right up to his girlfriend, "Was widdle Hermione blackmailing people again? Or were you just kidnapping stubborn witches?"

"No, Won-won, I wasn't doing anyting of de sort! Honest to Injun!" Hermione said, pouting and looking like a three year old child.

It was thoroughly disgusting (they were touching, in public, not just holding hands either), and reminded Draco of... "Stop it, you're starting to remind me of my aunt." A moment after the words left Draco's lips, he wanted to call them back. It had been a spur of the moment association, but there were reasons, good wicked sharp reasons why one did not remind Hermione Granger of Bellatrix Black!

Hermione, herself, had gone white. She slowly closed her eyes, breathing quietly. Ron Weasley looked at Draco, lips pursed into an angry line, and his hands weren't far from his wand.

Thirty seconds passed, and Draco was down to considering whether he ought to simply use the cruciatus curse, on himself. It would be better than waiting.

"How is your aunt, Draco?" Hermione asked, coldly.

"Quite a lot better, now that she's dead." Draco spat.

Hermione's brown eyes looked at him sharply, and she said, "I meant your other aunt."

Draco Malfoy looked at her, baffled, for a moment, and - as dawning comprehension surfaced on his face, he said, "Oh. I don't know, honestly. Never really got acquainted, you understand." Draco Malfoy had fallen back into the cultured drawl he often cultivated, in part to hide his embarrassment.

"Hm." Hermione said, coldly, and looked at Ron, "We've got tea at the Potters, don't we?"

"Yes, best be quick about it." Ron Weasley said.

Hermione Granger looked at Draco Malfoy, and said quickly, "Indian. My place. 7 o'clock. Bring the petition, we'll get it ready for tomorrow."

As Hermione Granger's dress swished out the door (Weasley on her heels, naturally), Draco Malfoy was left with three burning questions. Blackmail? Kidnapping? and, of course, "What's appropriate to bring for Indian?"

Draco Malfoy shook his head, and tried to get the bothersome questions out of his mind. There had been an Indian, in his year, hadn't there? Quickly nodding, he scrawled a quick note and spun down to get Zambini. He had an encylopaedic index of all the girls, no matter their House (and Draco hadn't really remembered where the dark colored girl was situated**). Besides, Zambini always knew the best way to butter girls up, and Draco Malfoy could really use some advice on that front (not that he would even consider using it on his boss, there were so many ways that could go wrong, not the least of which that she'd take it seriously).

**That's because there's two of them, you nit!

***Zambini's a flirt.

[a/n: leave a review? Draco gets off easy here, at least in part because both Hermione and Ron realize he hadn't meant to bring it up]


	30. Not even a birthday party

Ron adn Hermione tumbled quickly into Grimmauld place. Gin was there, along with Harry, and they smiled at their newcomers. Hermione and Ron stood up. "Lo guys!" he wedded couple said. "You're going to love the tea we've got."

"Are there chocolate biscuits?" Ron asked, his eyes already wide with hunger.

"Boys!" Hermione laughed, her eyes intent. Gin looked at her with growing concern, even as everyone sat down to eat. Well, everyone except Ron. Ron wolfed, and did so in such a hunched back fashion that terming it sitting was an marked improvement over reality.

"How's the work coming, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry laughed, "That's all it ever is with you, isn't it, Hermione? Work Work Work. My work is relaxing and engaging at the same time."

"Catching criminals? Relaxing?" Gin asked, her eyes sparkling as if she was already in on the joke.

"Yes, first you sit there for ages on stakeout bored out of your bleedin' skull, and then you have about twenty minutes where you're stark afraid for your life - and that of passing citizenry." Harry said with a smile.

Hermione giggled at that, "You're not afraid for the criminals?" She said with a growing smile.

"Course not, Hermione, That's our job!" Ron Weasley said.

"What better job than that? We get to crack skulls, and the law calls it legal!" Harry said with a growing smile, enjoying the dawning look of outrage on Hermione Granger's face.

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione shrieked, and Harry completely lost it, his steady "I am serious" face dissolving into wild gales of laughter.

"Sorry, sorry!" Harry said, eventually calming the laughter.

Hermione was actually blushing, "You got me good that time, James."

At that, Harry actually sobered. He hated being called by his father's name, and Hermione knew it. That meant that she was upset over something, and that never meant anything good. Tentatively, he asked carefully, "And how's your work going?"

"Developing well, though why you two had the mad idea to stick me with Malfoy, I'll never understand. He is such a gigantic git, I don't even want to talk to him, most of the time."

"... and the rest of the time?" Harry asked quietly

"I just want to hex him silly!" Hermione said.

"Oooh, what hexes!" Gin asked excitedly. "Can I help?"

"If you do it, it's assault on a Ministry employee, and that's a punishable offense." Hermione said sternly.

"And if you do it it is somehow Not?" Ron asked, confusion on his face.

"If I do it, it'll be because the ferret deserves it, and I'll cheerfully pay a fine for that." Hermione said.

"I have to say," Harry said slowly, painstakingly picking out his words, "I didn't think you'd still be upset about working with Malfoy."

"Really? Why not?" Hermione snapped, "You boys are Never Ever going to be allowed to give me a surprise Anything, you realize? I will absolutely hex you to bits, and they can put that in the papers."

"Hermione..." Harry said plaintively, "It's not that I object to your right to hex us, but do you have to put it in the papers? If you do that... we'll have to deal with Molly... and McGonagall."

"Headmistress McGonagall." Hermione said - and the entire room lost it to laughter.

"I mean it guys," Hermione snapped, "Not a single surprise. Not even a birthday party."

"You know, Hermione, you almost sound like Malfoy's worse than when you went to school with him." Harry said quietly.

"Prolonged exposure to Malfoy is not good for my complexion." Hermione said with a straight face.

"Or temper." Ron leaned in and said.

"What's he done that's so bad? Surely the Great Hermione Granger can deal with a few insults?" Gin said teasingly.

"Oh, the insults are just de rigueur. No, what's truly under my skin is this - Malfoy's up to something!" Hermione hissed the last bit out.

"Oh, what's that?" Ron asked, completely discounting the seriousness by talking with food in his mouth (and trying to cram more in besides).

"That's just it, I don't know." Hermione blinked, and said, "I did catch him doing some... outside research over lunch the other day. I think that might have something to do with it."

"Did you try asking him?" Harry asked, a bit confused by this whole thing. If Malfoy was up to something, why had Hermione hired him? Had she known that? Was Malfoy up to something that would jeopardize what Hermione was working on?

"Yeah. He said he can't tell me. Non Disclosure Agreement." Hermione said coldly.

Harry nodded, his mind working on a few possibilities. It was unlikely that Malfoy was doing anything too illicit, if he was still using standard legalese. But that just led to Harry wanting to know what in bloody hell Draco Malfoy thought he was doing. "Maybe I'll try asking him then, I might have better luck."

Gin dropped her fork, saying, " _You?!_ "

Harry nodded and said, "I still need to tell him that he's invited to the Burrow on Sunday."

Hermione groaned, and said, "Not again..." Pausing a moment, she looked over at Harry, "you wouldn't know why Malfoy was with the twins - privately- last Sunday, would you?"

"I don't think they swing that way, Hermione." Ron said, pausing a moment, "I hope Malfoy doesn't swing that way, either, come to think..." Ron suddenly looked a bit green around the gills. Thinking while eating tended to bring that color out in him.

"No, they haven't said a thing. Silence is golden, you know that, Hermione?" Harry said, in a carefully implied reference to the fact that he was the twins _silent_ partner. Gin was looking at him a little funny, but he wouldn't be telling her (she couldn't keep a secret from her own brothers!).

[a/n: Yes, hermione's cross with draco. Write me a review, up next is Indian!]


	31. Indian Time

Draco had calculated that he had 130 minutes to discover what the proper etiquette was for consuming Indian food. Granger had tossed it off like it was absolutely nothing - as if last time she hadn't said Chinese. While Draco wasn't normally the type to denigrate his family library, he was completely certain this wouldn't exist in it. So he was in the ministry library (not the part for unspeakables), and was trying desperately to find a book on etiquette.

Aha! There it was! Indian Etiquette for all occasions.

The next hour and a half spun by coated in the bright orange of turmeric, and the smoky brown of mustard seeds, the brilliant yellow of mango, and the gray of an elephant's back. By the end of it, Draco could almost see what had attracted his father to Politics. The lure of experiencing - with a talented and trusted guide - a fully different country? To blend in, to simply do what the locals do? Without regard to being a Malfoy, or a Person of Some Importance, or anything? It sounded like a quality lark.

*crack* as Draco apparates to the door of Hermione's flat. He knocked loudly, twice, and then waited. Draco was not nervous. He was not. His feet were merely... itchy!

Hermione opened the door to see Draco Malfoy holding a bottle of what was probably some sort of liquor (what liquor comes in candy red?), and an earthenbrown pillow. Her jaw dropped, her eyes got wide.

"Well, aren't you going to invite me in?" Draco Malfoy drawled.

[a/n: yes, draco doesn't know indian. leave a review]


	32. The easy one

Draco Malfoy was standing on the doorstep to my flat, carrying an Indian pillow and a bottle of what was probably alcohol. He looked - strained. Maybe nervous? Hermione Granger couldn't help it - a wild gale of laughter threatened to consumer her, and she made a last, desperate grab for Draco before it did - hauling him into her flat by his neck (that look was definitely fear in his eyes, she'd recognize that anywhere), and slamming the door.

And then she collapsed on the floor laughing. "You-you brought a pillow!" Hermione cackled with glee.

Draco looked puzzled, and then discomfited, and then a touch irate. "Should I not have?" He bit out.

Hermione Granger sat up, and looked up at him, "India was an English colony for over a hundred years. We will be perfectly capable of using British customs to eat Indian food. Besides, half of what's on the menu is Anglo-Indian."

"Oh." Draco Malfoy said, looking up as he put his hands in his pockets. "I wish you had mentioned."

Hermione Granger let out a giggle, as she said, "I bet you do!" She was on her feet in a move that was strangely graceful (too much practice with Moody). "What's this! What's this! You got me something! Is it wine?"

Her obvious, childlike enthusiasm proved enough to have Draco grace her with a thin smile as he said gently, "Mangalore. A traditional drink of India."

"How delightfully exotic!" Hermione said, striding towards her kitchen table. "Nobody ever gets me presents, you know." she said with a pout. "Not for dinner, anyway." She sat at the table, and said, "What'll it be?" pushing a menu towards him.

"I haven't the slightest idea about any of it, so perhaps, for once, I'll take your advice." Draco Malfoy said.

"That'll be the day!" Hermone said, "Hm. try the Chana Kofta, and the Chicken Biryani." She said, marking them down. "If you don't like them, you can always have half of the naan and my Chana Masala."

So, this is the tale of how a fully unprepared Draco Malfoy sat down to enjoy "Indian Takeaway" (the concept led to further questions, as he'd never used a telephone, or had a restaurant that would send him food at a moment's notice.)

After a surprisingly delightful dinner, they spent hours working on that day's project, and at last, Hermione smiled, "I think we've finished all the writing for this, just need it signed off, really." She gave Draco a grateful smile, "Not even two week, and already something off my list!"

"Let's just hope it's not the easy one." Draco said with a crooked smile.

Unbeknownst to both of them, owls continued to pile up at their office.

[a/n: Duh-dun! Anyone know what's up? Leave a review regardless!]


	33. In the fire together

Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger managed to arrive simultaneously at their office, for once (a bleary looking bloke getting coffee peered curiously at them, looking slightly disappointed _for no logical reason_ ). This was slightly less surprising than it would have been any other day, because they had agreed to meet at 7am to work on finalizing their vote count.

Draco took one step in the door, precisely opening it for Granger, and then his mouth dropped. It was as if it was an owlry outside his window. Draco blinked, his mind taking off on a tangent, trying to precisely figure out what exactly had been wrong yesterday.

Hermione Granger was possessed of less of a clue, and fewer scruples. She started practically pulling letter after letter off the owls. "I suppose they must have figured that we're spending more time here than at home." Hermione said lightly, pouring owl treats on a window trough for the multitude of owls. Draco had this funny, sinking feeling in his chest. He'd _missed_ something.

Draco lunged at the first howler, his wand waving. Hermione looked at him curiously as the Howler spoke in a reasonable tone (but still unmodulated as if it was still yelling). "Snape's spell." Draco said absently, flashing Granger a boyish grin, "Do you have any idea how many Howlers he used to get?"

Draco pulled out the next Howler - as unbothered as Granger by not having listened to the first. When the entire Wizarding World had Opinions on something, they tended to be remarkably similar.

"Granger, you hussy! I can't believe you would try to break up true love like that!" One shrieked (in a moderate tone of voice, which made the whole thing surprisingly hilarious.)

"Malfoy, you dog! How'd you manage to get them to fight over you!?" That was said with less of a shout and more a bellowed leer. "Great," Draco growled, "Blaise's jealous."

"What the hell are they talking about?" Hermione groused, her fingers fiddling with her skirt as if they were still at Hogwarts. "I didn't see anything mentioned in the Prophet."

"Right, that'll be Madge coming through." Draco said smoothly, a bit of relief in his voice.

"Madge? Draco Malfoy, did you bribe the Prophet?" Hermione Granger said, her hands on her hips. This was starting to remind Draco uncomfortably of old times.

"Hardly. She's Pansy's bestie, and she knows what Pansy will do when she catches wind of this."

"Pansy?"

"Yeah - you know, the girl you got in a fight with?" Draco Malfoy paused, "Are there more than one?"

"No!" Hermione said curtly, "There's not even one in the first place!"

Draco Malfoy flashed a lazy grin, "That's not what the press says."

Hermione Granger stomped her foot, driven speechless by the mindless stupidity of the masses.

"Hide the kids, bury the dog, Pansy's coming to town." Malfoy said, his grin turning predatory.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Granger demanded, her hands on her hips.

"Pansy's not working for the Ministry for the money, Granger." Draco Malfoy drawled arrogantly. "She's manhunting."

"So?" Hermione Granger looked at him.

"This... rumor... interferes with that. If there's one thing I've learned, it is stay out of Pansy's way." Draco said, knitting his hands together. "Should be easy for you, you don't care about the press much anyway. Except for the Quibbler, and I'll bet a galleon it's not printing this offal."

Granger grinned briefly, before starting to look at all the mail, "Draco... some of this is from the Ministry." She looked up at him, worry in her eyes, "The vote count..."

"Sort first, organize second, murder last." Draco Malfoy said with a smile. "On it, boss."

Granger went back into her office, closing the door and resting her forehead on her desk. _Why was it that Draco managed to not be an arse when it counted?_

[a/n: shh! Draco isn't that malevolent, really. Big secret, that. Don't tell Granger. In other news, leave a review. Up next, Narcissa Malfoy!]


	34. Frankie First

At precisely quarter to nine, Draco Malfoy strolled into Granger's office, "We need to go see Frankie now." Draco said firmly.

"What? Why?! With everything else-" Hermione said with a shriek in her normally calm voice.

"Exactly. Clear the tables, and then we can flip 'em." Draco Malfoy said with a smirk. Hermione Granger, suddenly unable to take the picture of Draco Malfoy flipping tables, first gave a snerk, and then a chuckle, and then a full on guffaw.

"Alright, alright." Hermione said finally.

* * *

Frankie was one of those eccentric folk that didn't keep an office so much as the office kept him. There was simply no place to sit, the piles were all stacked high (and some of them contained takeaway).

"Oh, and how's the lovely couple now?" Frankie said to them as Granger and Malfoy stampeded into his office. "Lover's spat is it?" He said with a broad grin.

"Very funny, Frankie." Granger snapped back. "Exactly how long do you think you'll keep your bollocks if you keep up that talk?"

"Three shakes of a unicorn's tail and that's the truth." Frankie said with a pout. "Absolutely no truth to it, is there?"

"Afraid not, me bucko," Draco Malfoy said, and Hermione Granger had to force herself from _swiveling_ to stare at Malfoy. She'd never heard him that casually relaxed. Even when he was pretending to be casual, he had this stiffness about him, as if he was a puppet with strings - slumped insouciantly against a wall, still just able to pick up and dance again.

"Well, so's that's the truth. How in blazes have you let the fire get this big?" Frankie said, "I had my own opinion to add to the rumor today, you know."

"You mean you were about to make it worse." Draco said... smiling? Hermione Granger began to wonder why he was smiling. Hermione Granger had known Frankie for a while, but this was rather unexpected behavior. He was always studious, nearly always quiet, and could always find whatever you wanted...eventually.

"Precisely. So, care to tell me why you're here? Seems a little birdie told me-" Frankie said, his grin widening into one suspiciously sharklike.

Draco Malfoy cut him off saying, "No, I don't. What I will tell you is to watch the papers. Next Sunday to be precise. Look for something brilliant and flamboyant."

"Ooh" Frankie said, drawling the word out as if he was Draco himself, "What _are_ we up to?"

"Now, you know me. That would be telling." Draco said with an easy, if conceited smile.

Frankie finally looked at Granger, and smiled at her, "Oh! You're here too. For the meeting minutes, I suppose."

"Erm, yes. exactly." Granger replied.

"Well, here you go then." Frankie said, handing her an inch tall stack of papers, "I did try to include everything."

"Thank you, Frankie," Granger said, leaning over the desk to pick up the papers that Frankie was tugging towards himself... And Draco Malfoy, expression completely unreadable, found himself looking at Frankie staring down Granger's cleavage.

[a/n: What's Frankie's game? What's Draco doing? Will Draco react to Frankie? Will Draco tell Hermione? What does Hermione think about all this?

Leave a review, or just speculate if you like.]


	35. Mr Sullivan

Hermione Granger cut a fine figure, striding out of Frankie's office like she had a dragon on her heels. Draco Malfoy thought with the ghost of a smile. If you counted yours truly, she did have a dragon on her heels, indeed! Best not to tell her that, though. Dragons weren't the only things in the Wizarding world known to breathe fire, after all. Draco strode gracefully, his bootheels clicking on the paving stones.

From the glances Granger kept giving him, Draco could tell that she wanted to quiz him on what exactly he had been doing with Frankie (it was sheer luck that she hadn't figured out the implication herself - he had been certain that he'd have to hush the reckless out of the Gryffindor). Draco could hear the grinding of the gears in her head, and knew that it wasn't simply grinding about him (Thank Merlin!). There was undoubtedly a part of her that craved the simple stillness of reading Frankie's notes - Draco idly wondered if she'd picture people the way he often did, trying to get into their minds on whatever they were saying.

Draco realized that whatever thoughts were increasingly crammed in Granger's skull, they were being neatly stowed (like a pile of papers), until they got back to her office, where she could think in peace. Everyone seemed to be staring at them, and Draco forced himself to look like the model assistant (stylish, of course, punctual, of course, and the appropriate level of incisive wit). Granger was entirely too frazzled to be projecting confidence (It was something she really ought to work on, but Draco didn't need her biting his head off today, so he opted to let it slide.).

They almost made it to their office, before they saw the tall, graying man who seemed to be craning his neck into the window into Granger's office - as if he was trying to figure out why she wasn't there. Or, Draco thought, why I wasn't there, for that matter. Hermione seemed to recognize the man, and hurried over towards him. "May I help you?" she asked kindly, though with enough force to her voice that it sounded like a soldier's politeness.

As the well-dressed man turned toward them, Draco's eyes widened. That was Pansy's boss - Mr. Sullivan! Director of Human Resources. Draco felt a cold chill crawl up his spine at the thought. Was he about to be fired? *

"We should converse. Your office or mine?" Mr. Sullivan said in his deep baritone voice, revealing nothing - and a wise thing that, with half Granger's department peering out of their cubbies to look at them both.

*Ah. Draco's marvelous ignorance of bureaucracy.

[a/n: well, well, well, what have we here? Any guesses? Leave a review, folks!]


	36. Mr Sullivan Cont

They proceeded into Granger's office, Granger and Malfoy laying their papers down before Granger sat. Malfoy stood awkwardly behind her, as if he expected to be told to leave... except he looked entirely too prepossessed to think that. No, more likely he strangely thought that looming behind his employer was where he was supposed to be. Mr. Sullivan considered this to be nearly worth a laugh - the slight lad wasn't at all intimidating, and it wasn't as if - oh, my!

"Would you like some tea?" Granger asked with all the grace of an iron pig.

"I suppose." Mr. Sullivan said, waving it into existence, slightly gratified at the way that both of the kids jumped. "You have created quite the fracas this week, I see."

Hermione Granger took the bait with a sigh, saying, "Unfortunately."

"Such things will blow over, as all storms do." Mr. Sullivan continued, "Although sometimes they do leave wreckage behind."

Smirking, Malfoy nodded at that comment, before drawling, "You'll want to watch your employees more than you watch us, I think, if you're the type that likes to watch wrecked flying carpets."

"I'd hardly have hired anyone likely to fly on one of those, let alone wreck one." Mr. Sullivan said sternly.

"Naturally not. Still, a weather eye will catch you many feathers from the cat you did hire." Draco Malfoy said smiling. It was plain that he was rather enjoying talking circles around the Gryffindor - particularly as she seemed about to bubble over with annoyance.

"I must say, lad, you have sparked quite the interest around here." Mr. Sullivan said, leaning forward, "And not just from the gossips and geese."

"Mindless drones always need something to think about, don't they?" Draco Malfoy drawled, affecting a boredom that he didn't really feel.

"Ah. But powerful drones are capable of strewing caltrops in your path. In all your paths." Mr. Sullivan said pointedly.

"Where should we lumbering elephants look to for trouble?" Granger asked, all false sweetness and humility.

"Ah, well, they'll have told you that themselves." Mr. Sullivan smiled a toothy smile. "Surely you didn't think I was here to help?"

"Why are you here, then, sir?" Malfoy managed, after shifting his feet a bit.

"Merely to indulge my curiosity." Mr. Sullivan said, "I'm not harebrained enough to think that you want to be your father - that's the news in the upper decks." *

Malfoy responded with a deprecating snort.

"As I don't really believe that, I am overflowing with curiousity as to what you are up to." Mr. Sullivan deadpanned.

"I can't tell you." Malfoy said firmly.

"Oh, dear!" Mr. Sullivan chuckled, "I wouldn't dream of asking. No, curiosity is my vice, not satisfying it immediately. Now if you'll excuse me, this has been quite a pleasant diversion, but I really do have work to accomplish today..." Mr. Sullivan left without a by-your-leave from either of his hosts, his thin frame radiating firm authority.

*naval man speaking.

[a/n: Well, Mr. Sullivan for you. And yes, there's the deeper current of what non-ninnies have to think about Draco Malfoy showing up out of the blue, working for Granger as a secretary. Leave a review, tell me what you think!]


	37. Jamming

Draco Malfoy was rapidly adapting to working in an office, and he wasn't sure if that was precisely a good thing or not.

More accurately, he was adapting to working in Granger's office. He was fairly certain everyone else got lunchbreaks - if Ron Weasley didn't, Draco feared that the world might end from an attack of the Empty Stomach. He forbore to mention this to Granger, of course, because he wasn't actually complaining (Draco had a nasty "I'm concentrating!" habit that his mum loved to nag him about - as in too busy for food, too busy for sleep, too busy for anything but what he was working on. Draco had eventually grown up to understand that his mum was right - a nice night's sleep often found him waking at 2 in the morning with the solution, but that was apparently preferable to him walking around like a zombie for a few days before he'd collapse - and only on waking find the solution).

It was lunch, which meant that Draco was pretending to look over his notes on the Runes that he had been deliberately carelessly flashing on Friday, and with his other hand (and more than half his attention) he was filing howlers complaining about Hermione Granger's lewd conduct. If any of them had actually been there, he'd have just laughed in their face at the stupid gossips they were. But they hadn't been, and that meant they were just credulous fools. As being a credulous fool tended to remind Draco of his service to Voldemort, he was nourishing a rather unhealthy desire to punch these people's living daylights out. Not that he would act on it of course. That was Weasel's right, duty and obligation. And Draco was happy to leave him to it, as fisticuffs had never been a hobby of his, and any hexes he knew that would leave a lasting mark would generally see someone to their grave. Yes, much safer and more pleasant to let Weasel handle the frothing sheepfold.

There was a flash from the floo, and Draco rather distantly noticed that Granger had looked up at the same time as he had. All of his attention was on the head in the fire. His mother, Narcissa Malfoy. _Shite_ , but he was in **_trouble_**. His mum wouldn't have embarrassed him by calling for any other reason, after all.*

*the embarrassment is part of the punishment, naturally.

[a/n: I like reviews. reviews will get me back to writing this story. Also, any idea what Narcissa is up to? What Granger is going to think of whatever Narcissa is up to? Slytherins have a rather broader definition of punishment than Gryffindors' do, if only because Gryffindors generally can't be bothered to care what anyone thinks, particularly if they aren't thinking along Gryffindor lines.]


	38. Enter the Narcissa

Narcissa's silver voice asked archly, "Draco Malfoy, is there some reason you haven't accepted my invitation to my little get-together this Saturday?" Draco Malfoy didn't like where this was headed - and so he tried to cut her off, as smoothly as possible.

"I haven't had a chance to look through my mail in days, mother."

"Your ... employment ... has been keeping you busy?"

"Mo-ther! Surely you don't believe a word those magazines have to say."

"Of course not. I'll believe a lot more of them once your dear friend Pansy's through with them, no doubt." How Narcissa managed to talk so smoothly about the targeted assassination of business rivals* was beyond Draco, but his mother managed anyhow and with aplomb.

"No doubt." Draco Malfoy said. "As wonderful as it is to hear your voice, Mother, I really do need to be going back to work." Draco Malfoy said, willing her with his eyes to leave it alone. It didn't work. It never worked (except when they'd been around the Dark Lord, which proved that she knew what he was doing, and just chose to ignore it), but he always tried it anyway.

"Draco, if you would only answer my question, you could get back to work presently." Narcissa Malfoy stated blandly, her voice as firm as rock.

Draco Malfoy flicked his eyes upward, before saying, "I do believe I will have some time free, yes. Unless I contact you with my apologies, you can presume that I will attend."

Draco watched his mother smile slightly, and his heart sank. He had hoped - even though it was futile - that he could just say he was going, and leave it at that. "Will someone be attending on your arm?" Behind him, he heard Granger's slight snort at the 'politeness' - typical of the Amazon, she didn't go for the subtle gestures - and, this, if anything ever was, was subtle indeed. Narcissa was reminding him to take a date, lest she feel compelled to throw anyone at the party even remotely interested in him (or, more accurately, the Malfoy's wealth) in his direction. He hadn't the patience for putting up with the simpering, anyway, and she knew it.

Draco Malfoy met his mother's eyes, and was gratified to watch them widen just slightly. "I'll find someone. Mother."

"Thank you, my son." Narcissa Malfoy unbent the stick that was shoved firmly up her arse to say. She was always gracious in victory, a trait common to the Malfoys in general.

"Until then." Draco Malfoy said smoothly, though he wanted to spit it at his interfering mother, as he ended the floo call. He turned around to catch Granger smothering a grin. Not that it should surprise Draco that Hermione Granger had interfering parents - she was certainly bossy enough that she'd have picked it up from somewhere.

Draco's eyes flicked up and down Granger's fit form, too quickly to be a leer, but still calculating. Now, there was a thought.

*he means destroying the businesses. not the people running them. mostly. character assassination is fair game, as always.

[a/n: What is Draco up to? And can he pull it off? I have been waiting for months upon months to introduce Narcissa. Seen here in her Winter Queen regalia, chiding her son for being too childish to actually respond to his invitation. ]


	39. Please

Draco looked at Hermione Granger, and considered. "I've just had a lovely idea." He drawled, looking at her. She returned his look with skepticism, as a frankly assessing Malfoy wasn't exactly a good thing in her experience.

Sensing that Draco wasn't likely to continue, Hermione Granger ventured, "And what's that?"

"How would you like to attend this ball with me, Hermione Granger?" Draco said baldly, his voice respectful and polite, but deliberately not grandstanding or romantic in the slightest.

"I wouldn't." Hermione Granger responded flatly.

"I'd owe you a favor." Draco Malfoy said, and his voice wasn't wheedling in the slightest.

Hermione Granger cocked her head to one side, thinking it over, "What sort of favor?"

"Name it, and its yours." Draco Malfoy said, with that certainty that only the excessively rich could muster.

"Why?" Hermione Granger asked, suspicion cracking through her voice like heat lightning.

"It's part of a plot that I'm currently hatching..." Draco said, his voice starting to wander like Ravenclaws' often did when they were busy thinking some way to upstage the competition.*

"Explain, then. In detail." Hermione Granger said, dismissing him from further notice as she went back to her paperwork.

Draco Malfoy took the time to put his hippogryffs in order, thinking this through meticulously. "Alright, I think I have it." he said, as he walked up beside Granger. She spun to look at him, staring down her nose at him (despite that he was standing and she wasn't.)

"Go on," Hermione said, as she stacked and set the paperstack down where she could pick it up afterwards.

"My mother wants me to find a good wife. Preferably yesterday." Draco Malfoy said, sitting on Granger's desk and letting his legs start to swing.

"I fail to see why this should arouse my sympathies." Granger said sharply.

"I don't need your sympathies, I need your cooperation." Draco Malfoy drawled, "For which I am prepared to grant you a favor of your choice."

"Even if I'm prepared to trust your word on that, I fail to see why my presence would accomplish anything." Hermione Granger snottily responded.

"I intend, with your permission of course, to insinuate to my mother that you are the object of my affections." Draco Malfoy said. Hermione Granger started to giggle (a sound that was quite unusual from her lips), and then chuckle, and finally into a full fledged chortling attack.

"You think she'll buy it?" Hermione Granger said pointedly, "She is your mother after all."

"Of course she won't buy it!" Draco Malfoy said, springing off the desk and beginning to pace animatedly, "That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" Hermione Granger addressed to Draco's back.

Draco spun around, looking her in the eyes, "The point is that if she rushes me, I'm likely to choose someone she wouldn't approve of, simply to get under her skin."

"No." Hermione Granger said, looking back down at her papers.

"No?!" Malfoy said, leaning over Granger. "No!?" He asked, flabbergasted.

"No." Hermione Granger said, not coldly, just a pure and simple no.

"Granger, I swear to Merlin I won't ever ask anything of you again that isn't work related." Draco Malfoy said, pleadingly.

"Give me a second good reason why I should say yes." Granger said, still not looking at Draco, who was doing his very best impression of sad puppy dog eyes. His prior track record showed that they were his best feature (so, yes, it was quite aggravating when she wouldn't look at them.).

"We don't have the time or the energy for my mother's schemes right now." Draco said, "Not if you want to get these projects done on time."

Hermione Granger looked up, meeting Draco's dovegray eyes. "I'll consider it. And I will talk with Ron before deciding anything. And one other thing..." Hermione said, trailing off.

"What?" Draco Malfoy said excitedly - he had honestly thought it might take the rest of the day to make Hard Hearted Granger cave in. That she was willing to think about it was more than he had hoped for, at this time of negotation, at any rate.

"You will not dissemble to anyone except your mother. If anyone else asks, you will, no doubt, scoff at any suggestion that we are there as anything other than mutual acquaintances." To this, Draco Malfoy nodded emphatically. It was one thing to tell your mum something, it was far different to tell the entire Slytherin rumor mill. And they'd all be there that day.

*No, a Ravenclaw would never put it that way.

[a/n: I like reviews. reviews get you more story. I would like to repeat that Draco and Hermione are not attracted to each other. This may change. Later.]


	40. The Look

Hermione Granger badly, badly wanted to vent at someone. Her mind was completely buzzing at the idea - the very idea - of Draco Malfoy taking her to an Event at Malfoy Manor. It was the worst idea ever - and it was the best one at the exact same time. There would be people there who wouldn't normally give the ministry the time of day (let alone herself). If she could be witty and charming, she might be able to intrigue a few people into giving her policies another look.

But, of course, that was the issue. Hermione Granger knew she could do witty, if she put her mind to it. But graceful? Elegant? Charming? She wasn't sure anyone had ever put those words to her. Well, except for Malfoy - and he was always sarcastic.

She'd have thought he'd be embarrassed to go with her, but - this was Draco Malfoy with a scheme, and that was apparently a duck of a different feather. He seemed entirely too pleased with himself (never mind that he had actually promised her a favor, with nearly no strings attached). He kept looking up at her, his eyes sparkling - and Hermione somehow knew, if he wasn't quite so much of a Slytherin, that he'd be prompting her for her answer.

Pay no heed to the fact that she hadn't talked with Ron yet.

Ron.

That was going to be a problem. Ron would be upset at her even considering this. Even for a trick and a gag.

Hermione wanted to talk with Harry - he was always better at talking with Ron. But, Hermione knew, if she talked with Harry, he'd give her The Look - wondering why in the hell she'd not talked with her boyfriend herself. And Hermione, Gryffindor or no, wasn't the type to stand up to a look like that.

Hermione wasn't the type to think about things to wear - but as a mask? As something so that Draco didn't sneer at her ridiculously out of place clothing? And Gin was gone - off in Ireland for a match! Of all the rotten luck! Hermione's other close girlfriend, Luna Lovegood, had such an exceptional sense of style that Hermione had to ask herself if she wanted the help. Gritting her teeth, she nodded to herself. Yes, Luna could hardly give her no options, and that was exactly what she had now. So, to Luna she would go. After all, Hermione placated her conscience, she could always say no.

But she had to ask Ron first. And Hermione Granger didn't want to ask Ron. Because she was absolutely certain that he'd say no.

It wasn't even that Hermione wanted to go to this (even for a chance to watch Narcissa Malfoy spit orange juice all over herself, in a fantastic spittake). It was just that dealing with Ron's Jealousy was tiring. It was always tiring, and Hermione was sick of it.

[a/n: Just a look inside hermione's head.

As to the reviewer who asked, "Is this going somewhere?"

"Yes, it's going lots of somewheres. Because there are lots of plots."

write me a review, I love you too!]


	41. Best idea in YEARS

Draco was close to bouncing heading home that night, and had had to drink himself into a stupor to avoid doing something awkward and unexplainable, like hugging his Mother. She'd want to know why, and he didn't feel like explaining that he was hugging her because he was brilliant. That was something that Granger would have called pompous, as well. Not that he truly cared what she'd think of what he chose to do around his home, but getting into the habit of at least thinking about other people's behavior was a good way to know when you were crossing the line, deliberately or no.

Even drunk, Draco had had a difficult time getting to bed. He'd been picturing the millions of different facial expressions Weasel would have, and all of them - in his admittedly drunken state - had seemed marvelous. Hell, Draco was in a good mood. He'd be happy even if Weasel told Granger no. Not that that would stop Draco Malfoy from trying to wheedle Granger into saying yes. He was a past master of wheedling, putting it to good use on both of his parents, who, with his guidance, had spoiled him simply rotten. Draco Malfoy was far from what he was when he was five, of course. Going through a war or two tends to do that to someone, he supposed. Still, Draco Malfoy was accustomed to getting his own way, and wouldn't think twice about manipulating someone to do it. Even Hermione Granger. Possibly especially Hermione Granger. Lady might have steel in her glare, and a stiff rod up her spine, but she wouldn't know manipulation if it bit her right on the nose.

He'd still give a pretty penny to know the story on Granger "blackmailing" someone.

* * *

Draco fell asleep still jittery, and he woke on pins and needles. Blast! He was caring too much, he knew this was going to hurt if she said no. And it would be for no bloody reason either (as ego-stroking as it would be if she declined because she was attracted to him, and wanted to avoid one of Weasel's famous jealousy induced rampages). Draco dressed quickly, and apparated near the ministry. He moved quickly, still with that long-instilled grace imbued in his every pore, as he strode through the offices. He came to a halt before Granger's office, not at all surprised to see her working this early.

He was, however, quite surprised to see her looking quite so depressed. Hermione Granger, in Draco's long-suffering experience, was many things. But Depressed had never been one of them - and just as he was sure the War had affected her, he was absolutely convinced she hadn't gotten depressed from it. No one got depressed when they were getting that much done. Depression was like dirty dishwater, it seeped into your clothing and gave you a chill. Granger wasn't like that - pure fire, piss 'n vinegar. Balk her, and she'll climb over the obstacle just to prove how foolhardy it was to try and stop her.

[a/n: How often do we see Draco happy? This is happy/anxious, but it still counts. Guesses on what's next are welcome, leave a review even if you don't wanna guess.]


	42. Ride of the Bumblebees

Hermione had stepped in the door at 8:03, three minutes later than she had planned to arrive (Ron had forgotten his cloak). Being that she was hired to work from 9 to 5, she told herself stiffly that she was not late, and ought not to feel ashamed for arriving three minutes after she had meant to start. Particularly not since Malfoy was there, looking over the howlers, of all things, and making studious notes.

That he was working (if you can call that working) wasn't the problem. The problem was he was buzzing - this suppressed energy that made each of his movements - normally graceful and calm - staccato and quick. Shift, Shake, Brushstroke, Stand, Step. No matter that he was going to get her coffee - in fact, Hermione suddenly wished she wasn't having coffee, as that would mean that he wouldn't get any.

With how he was acting, Hermione thought he just might explode with a drop more sugar, let alone a dash of caffeine. Hermione let out a sigh as he stepped out the door, closing it herself. For an instant, there, she had wanted to scream at Malfoy to simply ask his question. Not that she wanted to admit she hadn't asked Ron, but oh, my god, was his attitude getting on her nerves! Shaking herself back to the task at hand, Hermione started working quickly on drafting a proposal for a Ministry/Corporate Alliance with Janus Incorporated. They were the ones with the most skilled brewers, and if paid enough, would hopefully be willing to spend a good deal of time making Wolfsbane. If nothing else, it would be excellent Public Relations - Janus was well known for being tightfisted, so they'd be able to burnish their image.

Hermione was putting the finishing touches on the document when Malfoy came back. If you had asked her before he started working there, Hermione would have said that his shoes clicked - she certainly wouldn't have expected how quiet and unobtrusive he could be. She grabbed her coffee, and continued reworking the document. It needed to be picture perfect, or the whole scheme would unravel.

"Dale's Department, right?" Draco drawled, his body tense as he abruptly leaned over Granger's shoulder. Half an hour had passed since she'd noticed him, and she fought to contain the jump - and the subsequent urge to pull a wand on him. Battle reflexes didn't want to go away, no matter how often you meditated.

"That's right." Hermione said, with a smile.

"He's no friend of yours, not right now at least." Draco Malfoy said, slapping down a howler from ... Dale?! Of all the ridiculous nonsense! Hermione Granger would strangle him! He knew her too well to fall for the stupid gossip columns. This was ridiculous! Hermione climbed to her feet, fists clenched and teeth gritted.

"That'll do just fine, Granger." Malfoy said, as he eyed her appreciatively. "Good cop bad cop. Since you're such a shoddy liar, I'll take good cop."

Hermione felt the anger, that had seemed ready to explode out of her just that very second, drain down into her gut, warming her and filling her with vinegar. "If you think you can pull off good cop."

"Cool as a cucumber, fits me to a T" Draco Malfoy said, with a nasty grin. "It'll take more than giving Dale a tell-off to strangle this rumor. You up for it?"

"Provided I can pull it off, I'm always up for anything." Hermione Granger said, giving him a patented Gryffindor grin - the breezy, feckless one that said any adventure was bound to be fun.

"Good lass." Draco Malfoy said, with a graceful bow, "Ladies first. Knock 'em dead, kid."

As Hermione Granger left the room, her swift stride sure as a mountain pony's, and reeking of determination - she was left with the odd thought that Malfoy quoting Westerns was simply surreal.

[a/n: this wasn't supposed to take this long. Oh, well. I do like reviews.]


	43. Victory and Defeat

Hermione Granger had a blissful smile on her face, the smug satisfaction that cats have when they've caught all the available canaries. She looked like she wanted to be petted and admired. Draco Malfoy, of course, had no intention of doing such a thing. Still, it was astounding to watch her so resemble their old Transfiguration Professor in her feline form.

"You should finish the notes on that last proposal, and get it off to Mister Chandler before he changes his mind." Draco Malfoy said stiffly, already looking towards the stacked pile of mail... wait, was it moving...?

Hermione Granger's response was a curt nod, as she dove into her work. They had had a working lunch (otherwise known as Lesson One in Pissing off Percy Weasley, including deliberate spillage of crumbs over all known surfaces, but really, he knew Hermione Granger, and he did know his own brother. If Ron, for even a split second, had believed that Hermione was having "an affair" with Draco, there wouldn't have been wards that could hold his fury at bay. Draco had rather an intimate knowledge of the poor lovesick bastard's anger when he was insulting him at school. They hadn't been chums, after all. But, even Draco knew enough to not tease the dragon. And touching Hermione Granger was a really, really sure way to find oneself committed to St. Mungo's. Possibly permanently. And, even if Percy was the odd duck, of course he'd have heard about a fracas like that. You didn't hush up getting a Malfoy admitted in serious condition, after all. Draco didn't think even the entire Golden Trio could pull that off - although if Draco actually managed to piss Granger off, he doubted he'd be seeing the hospital at all.)

Hermione looked up, about half past four, and said flatly, "I haven't asked him yet."

Draco looked up, responding in the same flat manner, "You're not leaving me much time to get an alternative, you realize?"

Hermione smirked, and said, "Oh, don't worry so much. Surely your mother would faint if she saw Luna Lovegood on your arm?"

Draco looked up, wide-eyed, and then said softly, "Oh, you wouldn't _dare_." Draco suddenly shook his head emphatically, saying quickly, "No - she'd love the daft wench. Anyone, really. Well, except you." Draco's mouth pursed, and then he said, "Unless... Is there any way you've kept in touch with Brown?"

Hermione said with ice in her voice, "Not keen on having a werewolf on your property, is your mum?"

"Not after Greyback, no." Draco responded, smooth as silk.

[a/n: And now it's Hermione forgetting something she really ought to have remembered. Next Scene: Enter Harry, Again!]


	44. A long day

Draco Malfoy left the office that day feeling tired, but somehow also satisfied. It wasn't like things were back to the way they had been before Draco Malfoy had entered Granger's office, but that they were actively realigning**, and Draco was hopeful that this realignment would lead to a stronger, more fruitful alliance.

Draco had taken three steps out the office door, when he heard someone clearing their throat from behind him. He leaped into the air, spinning around, his wand in his hand before he landed, only then registering that it was Saint Harry Potter, in his God Given Role to Scare the Living Daylights out of Draco Malfoy. Feeling the fool, Draco pocketed his wand, drawling, "Hiding beneath your father's cloak again?"

Surprisingly, Harry grinned, shaking his head, "No, you did that to yourself. I've been waiting here a good ten minutes."

"Waiting? Who for?" Draco Malfoy asked in a bit of confusion, as Hermione had left earlier.

"You."

"Why?" Draco spat, his hands starting to squeeze into fists, that he mentally calmed into being flat against his side again.

"Well, Molly wants you to come for Sunday dinner again."

"Didn't she have enough of me last time?"

"Apparently not. Maybe she likes you as a decent Twin Distractant."

Draco, uncomfortable, shrugged, "Well,I suppose she didn't actually poison me."

"Oh, come off it! Her food's quite excellent."

"S'not that. It was rather hard to enjoy when I kept on trying to figure out how she'd poison me."

Harry blinked at this, looking befuddled. In a moment, he had crossed his arms, and said, "Well, you're coming, and that's that."

"Or what?" Draco asked.

"Twins. They don't take no for an answer, and if you try it, you'll wind up with pink sequins on all your white suits."

"And just how do you know that?" Draco inquired.

"I asked what the twins would do. That seemed the most embarrassing of their ideas. They've got quite a few."

"I don't see why you don't just invite Snape if you need a token Slytherin."

"Who says we don't?"

"Wait. How's he getting out of this, then?"

"Sheer truculency, plus a potent Potions lab."

"That _works_?"

"Eh, most of the time. He shows up about once a month, when he has a Non-Brewing day. Even the twins know better than to bother him while he's busy."

"Maybe I should..."

"Not unless you fancy helping Snape to be more of a lark than going to another Sunday Dinner. I'm pretty sure the twin-ban is Snape-specific."

Reluctantly, Draco nodded.

"Now what sort of secret are you hiding from Hermione? She's been going on about it, and not being able to figure it out."

[a/n: Snape knows that if he never showed up, eventually someone (with iron shields) would be by to nag him into going. He's still no social butterfly, so he goes nearabouts the minimum likely to keep the Weasels at bay. He's rather possessive about his _private laboratory_. "That's why it's _private_."]


	45. Harry's Dilemma

"Can't tell you that." Draco Malfoy said, sticking his hands in his pockets and lounging - just as if seeing Potter hadn't sent him halfway to the stratosphere. Projecting confidence was everything, when it came to certain battles.

"Can't, or won't?" Potter asked rather pugilistically, taking an obstinate step forward that Draco recognized, only barely restraining himself from casting about for where Potter was palming his wand. Figures the git would be ambidextrous, doesn't it just? Draco thought wryly.

"Can't. NonDisclosure Agreement." Draco Malfoy shot back smoothly, his voice entirely unruffled.

And then, Potter did something completely unexpected. He closed his eyes, covering his forehead with his hand as he looked towards his shoes, and let out a long sigh.

"Can't tell Hermione, either, ya?" Harry asked as he looked Draco directly in the eye.

"That's correct. As I said, Non-Disclosure Agreement." Draco Malfoy said, with the barest trace of a smirk.

"Oi, but you are a fool, Draco Malfoy. A light-blinded fool." Harry Potter said, turning away from Draco Malfoy. "Good luck, bucko. I think you're going to need it."

And there you have it, Draco Malfoy thought, one of the highest rated Aurors, pulling a Dumbledore act out of blasted nowhere. Still, Draco Malfoy felt a rising uneasiness at the whole encounter. Not so much because he'd be going to Another Weasel Dinner, as Potter's last words. What did Potter know that he didn't?

[a/n: Ooookay. Harry just stole the chapter and ran off with it. Like, I had planned on all this stuff happening, and Harry just said, nahhh... let Mister Malfoy deal with it on his own.

Anyone got any ideas? Leave a review, folks, I love them dearly!]


	46. Just do it

Hermione Granger had a problem. Scratch that, she had a really big problem.

Ron was making dinner, as he often did, because Hermione hadn't really had the time to get better in the kitchen, and Ron had discovered he rather liked experimenting. Tonight's entree was Twisted Turkey Turnovers with Tarragon Butter and Mashed Tatties. Although the deep fried turnovers occasionally turned her stomach with just how heavy they were, Hermione knew that she'd smile and thank Ron.

Anything was better than her own cooking, anyway.

They sat down to eat, Ron gleefully relating some of the work Harry'd assigned him (The Minister! he cried at one point, The Minister of Paris!). Hermione didn't really hear a word of it, she was so nervous.

"Hermione, What's wrong?" Ron asked in that gentle way he had when he realized that Hermione had a Big Problem - not the witty winking way he'd ask when he knew she was worrying herself sick over something silly. The 'you've got a problem, and you need to talk' voice. And that was bad, because she really didn't want to worry Ron.

Maybe she could just tell Malfoy Ron had said no?

Maybe in a million years, when Malfoy would have _grown up_ enough to not needle Ron, like, _ever_ , about something that would actually aggravate Draco Malfoy. Wryly she shook her head, curls cascading everywhere as she looked down at her nearly finished plate.

Gryffindor Courage, she thought, as her eyes rose, meeting Ron's crystal blue eyes crinkled just a tad with concern. Hermione took a deep breath, calming herself.

[a/n: I thought about her procrastinating another night, but... really? She's not that evil.

I do like reviews. They might entice me to finish the scene.]


	47. I kind of said I'd think about it

Ron knew one thing about Hermione. She tended to overthink things. Often that was an asset - occasionally, it was a severe liability. He thought he sensed the latter in her right now. She clearly had something to say, but... Ron had learned that it was better to simply wait, rather than ask or wonder about what the issue was. He hoped it wasn't anything too serious, like having to rescue a dragon - or rid the world of Malfoys. Both of those would test their wit and patience, after all.

Hermione opened her mouth, taking a deep breath. And then she spat words so quickly that Ron didn't hear half of them, let alone understand them.

Ron smiled at Hermione, at least understanding that there wasn't something that needed immediate action. "Say that again, but half as fast."

Hermione took another deep breath, and started in on the explanation. She didn't appear to see the hilarity in Lady Malfoy's appearance at Draco's workplace (Ron supposed that she didn't have a fire-breathing mother, so couldn't naturally sympathize), so he tried to keep it quiet, letting the inner amusement settle around his heart.

Then Hermione got to the point about the proposal (no, not THAT kind of proposal. She really did stick her foot in her mouth! I thought I was the only one who did that on a regular basis).

Hermione, his Hermione, looked at him, and said, "I kind of said I'd think about it. Talk to you." Was she really wringing her hands? No, but almost.

Ron Weasley, who had spent many a year plotting exactly what he'd do if he ever could lure a tricksy Malfoy into his clutches, merely grinned. "Perfect. Call him over, we'll finish talking."

Hermione simply stared at him, looking a bit baffled. Inwardly, Ron felt a teensy bit proud of that. It wasn't often one managed to flummox Hermione Granger, after all.

[a/n: Wellll - anyone saw that coming? Anyone got any idea where this turns next?]


	48. Summoning the Dragon

Draco Malfoy was scribbling, trying to put to paper some musings that he'd had earlier in the day. He often had such thoughts when he was busy working on paperwork, and he had found that stuffing them in a mental drawer until after work saved both time and paper. Time, at least, he never had enough of.

Draco was in the midst of sussing* out a possible connection between Hag and Hagalaz, tracing them both towards proto-Germanic roots, when he heard a tapping at the window. He rose, quietly, stalking towards the bird sitting on the other side of the glass. Blankly (still thinking about his research), he stared at the unfamiliar owl. It was small, and it was - almost shy, which was a thing that shouldn't be, in an owl.

For how was it supposed to deliver messages if it was shy?

Such silly softheartedness could only be from Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy decided, his breath speeding as he thought of the possible repercussions this single letter might make in his life. Chief among which was convincing his mother that he was perfectly able to handle his own affairs in his own time. _She can only say yes or no, Draco Malfoy_ , he told himself crossly. _So, open it already._

Draco's steelen eyes skimmed the missive, before he crumpled it in his hands. Draco Malfoy hated waiting. At some points in his life, he had wondered if he hated waiting more than his Head of House (and, had, in fact, concluded that he did, if only because he was forced to do it more often). He strode through his rooms, climbing a flight of stairs and ducking back to his father's study. He stepped in, and flooed to the Granger-Weasley residence, sparing not a thought for what his father would say if he knew.

*I truly did not realize, until I googled, that this was Chiefly British slang.

[a/n: And we're off!]


	49. What ron wants

Draco Malfoy stumbled into the Granger Weasley residence, looking the entire place up and down - faintly surprised as he did so that neither Granger nor Weasley was interrupting.

"Like it?" Weasley asked, his mouth quirking into a not-quite smirk.

"Tolerable. Quite a bit smaller than I'm used to, but the efficiency is worth noting." Draco Malfoy said dispassionately.

"So, if I have this right, you want to escort my girlfriend to your mother's soiree on Saturday night?" Weasley said.

"And convince her that I'm romantically interested in Hermione Granger." Draco Malfoy said calmly.

Weasley nodded once, crisply, before asking, "You won't be telling anyone else? Won't be telling your mom where everyone can overhear?"

Draco snorted, responding frankly, "Hardly. We've got enough rumors going around, as it is. I'm not much for creating yet more bothers for myself."

"Convincing your mother that you're interested in someone you aren't isn't a bother?"

"Not compared to the interminable 'set-ups' and 'get-togethers' that I'd otherwise be subjected to."

"Would this involve a continuing association, even if false, between Hermione and yourself?"

"Absolutely not. I'm trying to scare Mum starkers, not actually go through with any relationship."

Weasley nodded, sitting down, and then standing up. "You swear you're not interested in Hermione romantically?" (Behind him, Hermione muffled a reckless giggle).

"I do so swear, on ..." Here Draco cut off, rapidly revising his comment, which was the usual "on my father's name" - which under these circumstances would be monumentally indiscrete. "On the Malfoy name, be it rendered null and void if I lie."

"Then I want a favor, and you may do as you please." Weasley said.

Arms crossed, Hermione spoke up crossly, "So good of you to make my decisions for me."

Draco's granite eyes looked at her, steadily, willing her to make a decision - any decision. He was sick of waiting.

With a sigh, Hermione at last responded, "Okay, we'll do it."

[a/n: up next, Friday, and then the soiree. Leave a review?]


	50. Safe as a babe in its mother's arms

Hermione Granger looked up at the time, glad beyond speaking that she was actually going home nearly at the correct time. For once. She spared a glance for Malfoy, who was busy colla ting some papers that he hadn't had time to do in the past two days, because of the record number of Personal Interactions they had needed to spearhead. That was meant literally, by the way, as they mostly had to beat sense into people by using the sledgehammer of logic. Apparently Ministry Officials, like most Wizards, weren't very good at the subject.

Somehow, despite the past few weeks, she almost expected him to be smirking at her.

"Any advice for me, before I enter your snakepit of a residence?" Hermione said, eliding away any mention of Malfoy Manor by name. The picture in her mind was grim enough, populated with the cackle of dearest Bella Lestrange, formerly Bella Black.

"Relax, you'll be fine." Draco Malfoy said dismissively.

Hermione Granger, standing above him, simply eyed him suspiciously.

Draco Malfoy put down the papers with a flourish, looking up at his boss' doubt, and said, "You'll be safe as a babe in its mother's arms. It's your first time, after all."

"I fail to see what that has to do with ... sparring with Slytherins." Hermione said doubtfully.

"It'd look weak, if someone went after you on your first time, before you had a chance to find your sea legs." Draco Malfoy said, pausing. "Besides, they want to get a good look at you first, before attacking." Draco looked at Granger, and said, "Not that that will save you if you attack first, mind. An insult will be treated the same as a drawn wand."

Hermione found herself looking for something to write down, as Draco smirked, saying "That's about it. You'll be fine. If you were going to be attending your third, I'd have a full dossier on everyone there, along with a decent gameplan for who to insult, with what, and why."

"As if, by the third time, I wouldn't have come up with something myself." Hermione sniffed.

"All good plans deserve a good vetting." Malfoy agreed.

Standing up, he stretched, his vest rising with his shoulders, as he asked Hermione, "What, exactly, should I wear to the Burrow on Sunday?"

"Afraid of looking too much like a Weasley?" Hermione snapped back.

"Hardly. But do I really want to look like Percy?" Malfoy asked.

"Be yourself, wear what you like." Hermione said.

"Oh, like that's helpful. What, exactly, is a Malfoy like in a house of Weasels?"

"Bereft of every shiny object you carried in, and possibly flapping around as a canary." Hermione said with a smile.

"I am going to visit the Weasleys, again." Malfoy said, rubbing his temples as if he had a headache. "I hope their table manners aren't catching."

From behind both of them, Ron smiled, saying, "Malfoy, you do realize it's only my manners that are atrocious, don't you?"

Both Malfoy and Granger whirled, heart in their hands. "Blimey, you scared me." they both exclaimed.

"I'm an Auror, it's my job." Ron said in that naturally humble, dismissive way that Hermione liked so much. "Are you overthinking things?"

"He is, just a bit." Granger agreed.

"I am not!" Malfoy snapped, looking a bit like a petulant child.

"Here, let me help," Ron said affably. "The twins will pick on you no matter what, so no dice in trying anything, no matter how safe or risky."

"They will?" Malfoy asked dubiously.

"Been picking on me since I was three, and I think they'd have done earlier if they were smarter." Ron said with a grin. "Turned my teddy into a spider, they did." It had taken Ron years to get over that (immersion therapy had nearly driven him catatonic, but if there was one thing Ron Weasley was, it was persistent.)

Hermione chimed in, "Percy will be Percy, but you know Percy."

Oddly enough, Malfoy perked up at that, "Yes, I do, now that you mention it. Last seen talking about emergency drills and the importance of fireproofing your paperwork."

"In triplicate." Ron said, laughing.

Hermione looked up, and asked, "Why didn't you mention that to me?"

"Because niddly itty things like that are my job." Malfoy said with a toothless smile.

[a/n: this just came to me. Literally, it wasn't in the script. Did you enjoy? Up Next: Saturday's When The Fun Happens!]


	51. Playing Dress Up

Hermione Granger hated fancy dress. She hated heels. She hated having her hair done, and she loathed makeup.

 _Why had she decided to do this again?_

Ginny, on the other hand, loved all of this - including the ugly duckling looks Hermione kept giving her.

Harry had offered to help, but Hermione thought that was just because he knew he'd be _worse than useless_ (he always did enjoy making her laugh with that earnest expression of his. He did a good deadpan, Harry did.)

Ginny was actually good at this. She had Hermione wearing a deep forest green gown, not too deeply cut, but enough to see at least some skin. And, wonder of all wonders, it had a brown broom skirt, so Hermione could actually dance. Not that she wanted to dance, necessarily, but it was Important To Have Options, and when she thought that, she wasn't sure if she was doing it in the voice of Moody or of Snape. Either was just the least bit disquieting - Wartime Memories intruding on her day to day existence.

Well, in times of stress, one often reverts to what makes one comfortable, Hermione Granger thought. "Now Why does a War make me more comfortable than going to His House? Hermione sniped at herself. Oh, right, the Dark Lord, Bellatrix, and the cursed Drawing Room. If Narcissa Malfoy instructed the women to withdraw, Hermione was just going to go into the Smoking Room and pour herself some brandy, and get smashing drunk while Draco Malfoy watched, presumably in horror.* Then again, he might just join her.

"There! All done!" Ginny smiled at Hermione, who really just wanted to spit nails at something. Or some flaming hexes. This was the ninth dress, after all, and that was before Ginny decided to Do Something about her hair. Hermione thought a bun looked just fine, but apparently there were variations on buns, and a Slightly Mussed Bun was quite different from a Bedraggled Moptop (which was apparently what she generally looked like when arriving at Ginny's).

"Are you certain I can't talk you into letting me do your face?" Ginny wheedled.

The look Hermione Granger gave her could have frozen glass. And then shattered it.

Bracing herself, Hermione Granger headed (slowly, oh so slowly) towards the kitchen where the portkey was, trying not to stumble over her dress or crack an ankle from her heels.

*Thus breaking all norms about the divisions of the sexes.

[a/n: Hermione has inherited all my hatred of such stupidities. And the practicality to know when to wield the stiletto as a weapon. Reviews?]


	52. Walking into the Dragon's Lair

Hermione Granger's portkey left her a bit wobbly on her feet, and her vision was swimming. Luckily, someone was there to hold her upper arm and steady her with a gentle hand around her lithe waist. Her vision cleared, and she saw Draco Malfoy standing beside her, looking as proper and arrogant as any prince. With surprising patience (she was half expecting a quip on her ungainly nature), he waited for her to regain her sense of balance.

"Ready?" Draco Malfoy said, and Hermione Granger nodded, remembering words from a Victorian novel about a woman's dress being her armor. She certainly felt clumsy enough in the stuff!

They walked from the wrought iron gates (she had portkeyed in directly inside the gates) down the paved walk, and as they did, she pictured horses and carriages pulling down the broad path. "Did horses and carriages ever use this path?" Hermione asked, her mind wanting to giggle at her girlish turn of thought. She was supposed to be worried, or scared, or anxious. Drawing her thoughts away from the party seemed to help settle her, so she swore she'd do more of it.

"Long ago," Draco Malfoy said, "Not within living memory." A thin smile traced his thinner lips, as he asked, "Having a romantic flight of fancy?"

Hermione Granger shuddered, and said, "So long as it's not with a broom!"

Draco Malfoy let out a nearly silent snort of amusement, cradling his hand in his chin and looking thoughtful, "I swore I found a flying carpet somewhere on the third floor..."

Hermione Granger squealed, shrieking, "Malfoy!"... and only afterwards looking about to see if anyone was looking at them. The entire lane was empty.

"Fashionably late." Draco said softly. "Still, someone might have found a way out of the Manor and to the back gardens."** Draco shook his head and said, leaning in closer to Hermione, "Best not to be _that_ loud, mmm?"

Hermione nodded, as she crested the long lane, and saw Malfoy Manor spilling out in front of her. She swallowed, and resisted the urge to run away. She was here at the side of the young Lord of the Manor. No harm would befall her here. Well, she amended, no physical harm. She was quite sure if he wanted to, Draco was quite capable of employing his tongue like a scalpel. And that was _best_ case. He was also capable of employing his tongue as a rusty spoon, for more psychic damage.

"Are those - white peacocks?" Hermione Granger asked, biting down on giggles.

"Of course." Draco Malfoy said, as if everyone had a gaggle of white peacocks on their front lawn. "My father had them imported from Java. Don't ask me why, I surely don't know."

Without really paying attention, Hermione's feet slid to a stop. They were at the front door. Draco Malfoy raised his hand to the doorknocker. Hermione Granger swallowed a lump down her throat, and put on her game face - trying for a facsimile of pleasantness that she hoped she'd be able to maintain at all costs.

**Reference to Snow Cherries from France.

[a/n: Yes, Hermione Granger is taking this a bit seriously, despite distracting herself. Did you _really_ expect otherwise?

Reviews convince me to write more, you realize?]


	53. The Redoubtable Narcissa Malfoy

Draco Malfoy knocked on the door, and, to Hermione's surprise, Narcissa Malfoy herself answered. "Draco!" she said, her blood red lips parting, as she put on a lifeless simulacrum of a smile (her eyes, however, had brightened in a rather convincing display of warmth, so Hermione guessed that Narcissa was pleased that her son was there, and not merely 'doing his obligation to the family' pleased, either).

Narcissa Malfoy's perfectly petite body turned towards Draco's guest, and obediently froze, as the woman's eyes (and only her eyes) flicked up and down Hermione Granger. In tones of perfectly polite disapproval, Narcissa said coldly, "You brought the _hired help_?" Hermione thought that was probably supposed to suggest that Draco could do better (which, to be fair, he probably could, had that been his aim. Nearly anything would be better than taking someone else's girl).

Draco Malfoy raised one icy eyebrow, saying sternly, "Mother, I work for her. You know this."

Narcissa stepped closer to Draco, running her arm through his spare (the other being entwined with Hermione's), and said with a steely voice that belied her previous velvet, "My dear, you are Draco Malfoy. You work for no one but yourself. I am your mother, and this I know."

Hermione Granger intervened breezily, "To be fair, I do pay him the going rate."

Narcissa silenced Hermione with a glare that made it quite clear that any more words would be dealt with at wandpoint.

Before Narcissa could say a thing, Draco Malfoy said calmly, "Mother, I trust you can see your way to ceasing to play matchmaker?"

Narcissa looked a question at him, her face completely immobile. "I don't know what you mean?" she asked promptingly.

Draco Malfoy removed his hand from Hermione's arm, and threaded both his hands behind his back, as he looked up toward the sky. "The heart wants who the heart wills."

"And is your heart really that fickle? Eight days ago you were talking with that darling Miss Parkinson..."

Draco Malfoy turned wide eyes on his mother, and nodded slightly. Narcissa Malfoy's eyes hardened, losing all the charm and grace - Hermione had to brace herself, as she suddenly saw the echo of Narcissa's older sisters - both of them, in her bright blue eyes.

Narcissa Malfoy turned another of those perfect, polite smiles on Hermione Granger, and said, "I don't believe you've had the tour, have you, Miss Granger?"

Without waiting for Hermione to say a word, she turned to her son, saying, "Draco, be a dear and see to our other guests." With her hand threaded through where Draco's had been just moments ago, Narcissa Malfoy tugged Hermione Granger down the hall, her excited voice echoing down the hallways, "Oh, I've heard so much about you!" Narcissa cooed.

* * *

What. What was _that_? Draco had thought everything was going so well, his mother had been suitably flustered (maybe enough to forget her manners and kick them both out, nevermind that he was her son.) And in the blink of an eye, the whole situation turned. His mother was not supposed to take it in good grace that he had shown up with a Mudblood. She was, at best, going to be tolerant. But even that was unlikely. She was not supposed to drag Hermione Granger off like some new bauble to put in her jewelry box!

And, worse yet, Draco Malfoy had been stuck with dealing with Narcissa's actual guests, rather than Draco's previously unmentioned "Plus One." This was too neat, he thought, as he gritted his teeth and put on a smile that had been drilled into him since childhood. He had a job to do. And, while he was doing it, and not cheerlessly punching walls in frustration, he intended to figure out what in blazes his mother was possibly thinking!

[a/n: Narcissa... is not pleased.

It is perhaps more foolish for Draco to upset Narcissa because he's her son. She takes that more personally, you see.

Leave a review!

I struggled a lot with this chapter, trying to find wording that could have Draco and his mother discussing his suspicious change of heart, while Hermione can still claim ignorance of what they were talking about. Did it work?]


	54. Where are you going?

Hermione Granger didn't know quite what to think as Narcissa Malfoy gaily led her away from her son. She did manage to catch one last glimpse of Draco Malfoy looking slackjawed in dismay, before Narcissa led her round the corner.

Most people, when they say, "Let me give you a tour" don't really mean it. They mean to get you off alone, and question you, or relay some information, or something like that. Hermione was prepared, when Narcissa dragged her off, for a short conversation.

She really wasn't prepared for Narcissa Malfoy to _mean_ it. The first room she showed her was a smoking room, clad in browns and reds, of all things. Hermione took one look at it, and thought it a bit dark and depressing - far from what the airy Rococo entranceway had suggested. "This looks a bit dark, doesn't it?" Hermione said tentatively.

Narcissa speared her with an icy look, saying "Wipe that vapid look off your face, girl, it doesn't suit. You don't fool a soul, and look bland to boot."

Hermione's face, she was sure, suddenly just showed shock. Slowly, she recovered, and asked, "Why's it so dark in there? It's gloomy, and almost depressing- Is it for brooding? Do Malfoys often have occasion to brood?" Her eyes had widened at the last, in a crude mockery of one of Hannah Abbot's best "I want some gossip" looks.

Narcissa let out a sparkling peal of silvery laughter, "Better. Though if you want me to actually answer the questions, you'd do better to ask them one at a time." She perched on one of the dark brown leather daybeds' armrest, saying, "To tell the truth, men like to fantasize that they're these big awful beasts, and that they curl up in dens like these." Narcissa sniffed, "I like these to be a little... more surprising, to tell the truth..." Narcissa waved her wand, and suddenly the room smelled like a storm.

Behind some of those bloodred curtains, and certainly behind some of the furniture, shadows moved, twisted, deformed themselves. Cautiously, Hermione Granger drew her wand, almost casually.

Narcissa nodded crisply, almost approvingly. "Oh, they haven't a chance of hurting you, girl." Narcissa paused, forming her mouth into a slight frown, "They do tell me that you're afraid, though. Why would that be?" Her eyes looked suspiciously blank as she stared at Hermione, and Hermione found herself recalling that this icy woman was in fact a Slytherin, and she would do well to look under the surface before falling for appearances.

[a/n: Something tells me we aren't going to be seeing Draco anytime soon. Yup, he's seething at having to deal with the old bags Narcissa generally hangs out with.

Leave a review!]


	55. Stare into the abyss and it'll peer back

Hermione gave Narcissa a tight smile, saying shortly, "I think you know. Ghosts, shades of a different time." Hermione paused for a moment, and cocked her head, still looking at the impossibly flexible beasts, now shifting and sliding around the room. "And, a little - this is a new thing for me." Hermione paused, looked at Narcissa for a moment and blurted out, "I hate making a hash of things."

Narcissa gave her a small, artistic smile. Like the Mona Lisa, just as statuesque. And, of course, not showing any teeth. But those eyes, cold and grey like a stormcloud. Hermione jerked her eyes away, as she felt from the corner of her eye, one of the... things... creeping quickly towards her. She pointed her wand at it, and asked, carefully, "What _are_ those things?"

"Undines," Narcissa said, giving Hermione a moment for her jaw to drop open, before continuing, "They feed on strong emotions. They can take your fear away if you wish."

Hermione carefully suppressed a shudder, though she suspected that Narcissa still saw - she had that type of piercing gaze that seemed unique to a certain brand of Slytherin. "No, thank you." Hermione whispered.

Narcissa laid a delicate hand on Hermione's upper arm as she stood, then deliberately tugged Hermione out of the room without pausing for a word. "Well, as you wish. But what sort of a hostess would I be if I didn't try to allay your fears?" In the brightly lit hallway, her laughter rang and rang, echoing down the halls - the place really did seem big as Hogwarts.

"Really, it's okay." Hermione said, before adding stoutly, "I'm a Gryffindor, we face our fears with a grin on our faces, generally speaking."

Narcissa nodded somberly, saying only, "If only everyone understood the foundations of bravery with such certainty."

Narcissa pointed out the next room, drawing Hermione into a small yellow sewing room, where there was a house elf currently stitching an embroidered pillow. Hermione stopped and stared, before bending down, and inspecting the room. It was an odd little room, more accustomed to use by house elves and their shorter stature. But, stranger yet, there were pictures completely coating the walls. They weren't painted, merely chalks and pencils, some just charcoal sketches. But they had a strange sort of whimsy that most of the house hadn't. Hermione said suddenly, "What are these? They're really good!"

The house elf stood, showing herself covered in a brown sort of pelt, and bowed. "Those're mine, missus. They're for sale, if you're buyin'. All proceeds to the good of the Malfoy Household."

Hermione's widening eyes sought out Narcissa's, who smiled back, softly but somehow joyously. "What is a house elf to do with leisure time?" She asked rhetorically, before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, "They won't take a dime for themselves, but if I let them do it for the good of the household, they're really quite creative."

"I've rarely seen such exquisite grasp of lighting and shadow..." Hermione said admiringly.

"I know. I think our elves have managed to start quite a fad. Even people who don't own elves want their art." Narcissa Malfoy said, and then let out a small sigh, "It's really the only way Elspeth and Helga keep their houses in working order you know - and the house elves would be distraught if we tried to make them move."

Hermione nodded, knowing from her research that the house elves were far more concerned with property than humans tended to be. They felt loyal to the property, far more than to the owners, who were seen as transient things. Freedom might be something that the house elves wanted, but they still wanted to be bound to the property as well, and negotiations to have them understand that they weren't entirely mutually exclusive were taking some time. "Thank you," Hermione said solemnly.

"For what, my dear? Meddling?" Narcissa Malfoy said with an airy smile. "Think nothing of it. I've precious little else to do, perched here in splendid isolation. Why you're the first real visitor I've had in years!"

"But... your son visits, doesn't he?" Hermione Granger ventured softly.

"Yes, when he's required to." Narcissa Malfoy responded in a tartness that Hermione recognized from Pansy Parkinson.

"And what about all the guests at your party?" Hermione asked, wisely refraining from asking about why she was missing it, if she was so sorely lacking in company.

"Boring old dames and jades, with well-worn stories that haven't changed for the past twenty years. We cycle in between each other's houses, telling the same old tales, and doing the same old things. It's a wonder I haven't gone completely out of my gourd!" Narcissa said lightly, with a light smile on her face. "Oh, and here we have our curiosity collection!" she said with a short clap, as they turned into another room.

[a/n: Narcissa is... unique. I do hope you like her as much as I enjoy writing her. Leave a review!]


	56. Of Cabbages and Kings

The curiosity collection seemed like curio cabinets out of another age, to Hermione at least. She assumed that Narcissa Malfoy thought them all properly modern. They certainly weren't the Middle Ages aesthetique that Hogwarts seemed to favor. Hermione cooed obediently over various sundries, and heard tales about tzotchkes from far off lands. It made the place seem... more homey, in a distinctly formal sort of way. Simple little treasures collected from the world round. Hermione idly wondered where the Dark Artifacts had sat, before the first ministry raid on the property. Or the tenth, there had been rather a lot of them.

Narcissa fairly pulled her along to the next room, a portrait gallery. "All the Malfoys, old and antique, and young and fresh." She said, as she walked between the rows, introducing Hermione to each and all. Some were taciturn, a few eyed her with interest. An old crone, wizened, and with silver hair, looked out at Hermione and said, "Is this the Mudblood then?"

"My, how the Malfoys have fallen," A solemn voice beside her said, a blond man in his prime, dressed in velvet robes.

"Oh, you stop that!" The crone snapped, her cane in her hand, wielded as if to give the man a blow. "Girl can't help accidents of birth, now can she?"

Another voice played out, unctuous and dripping with venom, "You can fix anything with enough money."

"Anything except honor." A woman's cold, cruel voice cut through the emerging din. "Have you no respect for a blooded warrior, fools?"

"No more than we respect you, Queenie dear." An ebullient voice chimed out victoriously.

"Oh, you!" The woman's voice responded, her hand tightening on her sword hilt. "Impossible, bloodyminded, fool!"

Narcissa Malfoy gently escorted Hermione out of the room. "Don't listen to them too carefully, dear." Hermione tilted her head at that, looking a question she dared not ask. "They've been having the same argument for dozens of years, and only need an excuse to fly off the handle." Narcissa paused, and tapped her fingers to her lipsticked lips, "That, and they are a trifle old-fashioned. I don't think some of them have had the opportunity to learn the word Muggleborn. It certainly wasn't something my husband, or father-in-law, instructed them in."

Hermione's eyes had lit, and not at anything that Narcissa was saying. She had finally put together the one thing that was in common in the variety of different portraits (apparently it was tradition to be painted doing something you loved)... "Why is there a cabbage in all the portraits? One of the boys was trying to hide his under his cloak." Some were red, and others conical, but every single portrait had one.

"The Malfoys, as you might have guessed from their coloration, hail from the Black Forest, Nordic Germany." Narcissa started, her soft voice turning lecturing. "They lived as cabbage farmers, until their eyes started to drift upward." Narcissa's laughter sparkled like an ice sculpture, as she saw Hermione making connections that would ensure her son would have this rubbed in his face. "First to aviking, and then to alordin'" Narcissa said, "Or didn't you notice that Cunning is the Slytherin's virture, alongside ambition?"

Hermione said tartly, "You'd have to be pretty ambitious to move from cabbage farming to lording."

"Of course," Narcissa said smoothly, "And thus the profoundly middle class virtues are celebrated by the very highest of Wizarding nobility." Narcissa Malfoy smiled, and said, "It's Gryffindor that has the virtue of the rich and powerful - Slytherin is, as charged, grasping and greedy. But only the middle class sees those as virtues, dear."

"Do you show this to all your visitors?" Hermione managed to ask, suppressing the wild gales of laughter that wanted to burst forth.

"Of course. The Malfoys have always been proud of their origins - and of rising above them." Narcissa let out a silvery giggle.

[a/n: Ambition is, of course, a middle class - or even villainous - virtue. Upper classes (particular Cavalier) think people should Know Their Place

Of Cabbages and Kings is straight from Lewis Carroll.]


	57. Up and down and all around

Hermione had tamely followed Narcissa up through the bedrooms (there were dozens, complete with bathrooms for each, and often a sitting room), the nursery (Hermione faked an aww of "how cute" that she really didn't feel, despite the dragons chasing knights all over the murals on the walls - so Draco, so Malfoy). It was only as they spun down again, through another quarter into the library that Hermione began to wonder, _Why am I not hearing anyone else?_

As Narcissa opened the door into their solarium (she was proudly explaining how it had been in the family since the Original in London had appeared, and that she'd fallen in love with it the first time she'd seen it), Hermione gathered her wits, and cut in smoothly, "Where is everyone? I mean, don't you have to be seeing to the rest of your guests?"

Narcissa let out a silvery peal of laughter, "Oh, well, I suppose that does explain the shoes," she said, shooting a withering glance at Hermione's two inch heels. "It's a garden party, everyone's outside."

Hermione nodded, saying, "To be fair, Ginny picked out the shoes."

Narcissa's mouth pursed, as she said, "And no one bothered to tell Ginny either?! Have you ever told my son that he is both irresponsible and impossible?"

"Frequently, although he seems to be better with paperwork than Ron or Harry." Hermione drawled.

"Well, I suppose there are small incentives for all the men in our lives, aren't there?" Narcissa said, "After all, my son sends me these delightful hunts all over for him, just to get him to visit me!"

Hermione looked slightly askance at Narcissa, "Huh?" she quietly boggled.

"I mean, I could have a dutiful son, and not a wayward one, but wouldn't that be boring?" Narcissa said, her mouth turning into a chilly smile.

"Oh, and here's the Eldar library." Narcissa said, and Hermione paused, looking up the shelves.

"Do you really -" Hermione said, and she left Narcissa completely in the dust (along with her heels). "There! And a first edition."

"I didn't know anyone kept any of these!" Hermione said, and then was kneeling down, in her long dress, as Narcissa approached.

"You may spend all day looking, if you like," Narcissa said kindly, "But first, if you don't mind an old lady's vanity, we should finish the tour. We can save the gardens for next time."

Hermione gawped, rising to her feet and stammering like she was ten again, "Of course, Milady Malfoy, Tour first, books second. I apologize for growing distracted."

"The perpetual problem of the preternaturally focused, I've found. My father was known for his focus, to the point that he'd forget to eat." Narcissa said mildly, pulling Hermione into a meditation chamber that looked suspiciously churchlike.

"A priest hole" Narcissa said mildly, "For hiding any that might have needed it."

Narcissa practically spun Hermione into the ballroom, smiling a genuine, if small, smile. "And here's my latest creation!"

Hermione looked at the marble and mirrors, reminded strikingly of Versailles, as she gushed, "It's beautiful!" Hermione took a few experimental waltz steps, and Narcissa mirrored her, saying "It's been a perpetual shame that Hogwarts doesn't teach more than the one dance, isn't it?"

Hermione, her eyes still on her feet, nodded.

There was a question that had been bothering her, and as she let the waltz slide to a halt, Hermione blurted it out, "What about - what about that drawing room."

Narcissa gave a peal of delighted laughter, "Why, you're standing in it!" Her eyes still glinted with warmth, as she sobered, "You didn't think I had good memories of the place, did you, child?"

[a/n: Narcissa's idea of decorating is to knock down walls, and rebuild from scratch. Hermione couldn't even tell she was standing where she'd been tortured.]


	58. Vile people with horrid manners

"They were vile people, who came to my house that year." Narcissa Malfoy said firmly. "And their manners were horrid!"

Hermione Granger's eyes nearly bugged out, "Manners, Madam Malfoy?" she finally asked.

"They tortured _guests_ in _my_ house!" Narcissa Malfoy said, through gritted teeth, sounding incensed. "The unbelievable _gall_ of it!"

Hermione Granger stared at her host, nonplussed.

"I don't know that you have the concept..." Narcissa Malfoy said, consideringly, her voice quiet as steel.

"What, manners?" Hermione Granger asked with a quirk of her mouth.

"Yes! Precisely!" Narcissa Malfoy said, "What they did to you - broke guestright."

Narcissa Malfoy paced - and somehow managed to look graceful while doing so. Hermione said sternly, "Muggles do have manners, and my parents taught me well."

"Not like this," Narcissa Malfoy said through gritted teeth, "What they did to you - it was the equivalent of raping a Queen in her own castle. Abominable, unconscionable, unthinkable!" Narcissa shook her head, her tame curls falling in rippling waves, "Were I ever to have had a remotely positive opinion of them, it perished that night."

Hermione stared at Narcissa Malfoy, watching her carefully. Narcissa Malfoy laughed her silvery laugh, only this time it had a bitter edge, "Not that I could do anything, oh, no. Bad enough to be in a state of perpetual fear. Worse to lack the tools to fix it."

Hermione allowed herself a moment to think on that, to think what soul-shattering paralysis Narcissa Malfoy had had to endure, when she couldn't as much as drop the gentle face and courteous act of a gracious hostess to the Dark Lord and his battalions of Death Eaters.

"Would you care for some tea?" Narcissa Malfoy asked with that grace that everyone who met her constantly mentioned.

"Oh, but I couldn't!" Hermione Granger said, a bit of Wilde coming to her as she spoke, "Your guests are pining away for your presence."

"Then let them starve!" Narcissa Malfoy said with a girlish giggle, "They'll be all the happier to eat when famished." Lower, she said, "I always was."

Narcissa clapped her hands, and at the appearance of an impeccably dressed house elf, she smiled, and said, "Tea for two."

Leaning forward, Narcissa asked, "Would you believe you're the first real guest I've seen since the War?"

"But... everyone... outside..." Hermione said, confused.

"They're just trapped in cages. Everyone watches them, and expects them to do things."

"You aren't like that?" Hermione Granger asked.

"Let them try to cage me, just let them try." Narcissa's icy eyes sparked with crisp lightning.

[a/n: Narcissa has entirely abandoned the garden party to the auspices of her son. ]


	59. Light and Airy Things

Taking tea with Narcissa Malfoy was quite an experience, Hermione Granger thought.

For one, she managed to talk about absolutely everything, from politics to roses.

And, as she talked, she touched everything lightly, gracefully.

So much so, that by the end of the conversation, you didn't know her opinions on a single thing.

It was fun, in an icy sort of way, the slick sort of ice that would send you flying if you put a foot wrong.

And so it was with a feeling of vague relief, and even vaguer sadness, that Hermione smiled at Narcissa's, "Oh, but I was going to show you the library!"

They swept down the halls in their dresses like dames out of a picture, elegant and poised. Or at least, Hermione _tried_. Narcissa seemed to pull it off without a shred of effort.

"Here we go," Narcissa said, waving her wand and highlighting a particular stack, "You are _not_ to touch any of those books. They don't like mudbloods."

Hermione paused, looking back at Narcissa, her expression more baffled than upset.

"Enchanted, simply ages ago, you realize?" Narcissa said, as if realizing suddenly that the word itself was offensive to Hermione. "Oh, and you won't want, There. There, and positively not that one." Narcissa said, highlighting particular books.

"And, as goes with Hogwarts library as well, be careful of the ones that bite." Narcissa said sternly, before smiling lightly, "But of course you knew that already."

Hermione dove into the library with a will, but actually found herself looking at a book on weaving and knitting. It was a cuddly sort of book, the type that sent out tendrils of yarn to curl around her. As this wasn't actually harmful, Narcissa merely smiled, and said, "I think I'll take my leave, if you don't mind. You look like you could be hours. And I think the guests are leaving..."

* * *

Draco Malfoy ground his teeth. His mother was still not back yet, and it was almost time for the party to be over. What had she done with Hermione Granger? Draco Malfoy wouldn't let himself think that she'd poisoned the slip of a girl. His mother was both too proud and too canny for that sort of thing. But, if she hadn't done that, Draco Malfoy sincerely had no idea what she was doing.

Other than leaving him to the Horrid Madames that Narcissa Malfoy consented to call friends. And oh, they were horrid. Draco Malfoy was put between a rock and a hard place, "Was that your paramour? Do tell us about her, we've heard such things!" Pansy Parkinson's mother put in, and Draco Malfoy, quite stiffly, said, "She's merely my boss. I wanted someone to distract my mother." Draco Malfoy said softly.

"Well, mission accomplished." Said the Lady Greengrass tartly, and they were off. There were fifteen Dames there, and each one of them wanted Draco to marry her daughter - nevermind that he'd already been set up with all the daughters. and talked to by their mothers, and been nearly thrown out of three houses for his 'stubborn obstinancy.' Draco Malfoy could still remember when that trait had been thought a good thing, although that was when Master Snape had still been alive.

Draco Malfoy, feeling harried, though trying to hide it (and Draco was quite competent at hiding things), stood, and started to say, "The time has-"

And, with impeccable timing, his mother showed up. Without Hermione Granger, of all things. His mother had left Hermione Granger in Malfoy Manor. Alone.

Swallowing his rage, he looked at his mother inquiringly, leaving the dismissal of their guest to the Matron of the House.

[a/n: teehee. Draco is fun to poke, isn't he? Leave a review, I have been updating, just not this story so much.]


	60. Tear her away

"Draco, dear," Narcissa Malfoy said grandly, even as she dismissed the diminished Lady Rosier. "You should see to your guest."

"The one I haven't seen since I got here?" Draco Malfoy asked blandly, the knives flashing just barely under the surface.

"Yes, that one." Narcissa Malfoy said, utterly unperturbed. "Try the library - although, knowing that one, you may have to tear her away..."

Draco grit his teeth, grinding them together as he turned and headed up the grand staircase, his mother's silvery laughter floating up behind him. He turned a corner, and bolted - as soft as a snowstorm, too quiet to make a noise. Never show weakness was the Slytherin credo. Draco Malfoy slid to a halt a corner away from the library, his mind full of fecund, monstrous problems that Granger could have gotten into. The Malfoy library was dangerous for Malfoys, let alone a (comparatively) innocent Mudblood. Draco was pretty sure there were a few books that would consume a girl like Granger... Lucky for her she wasn't a virgin - there were significantly more books that hungered for maidsblood - and even if that wasn't deadly.

Squaring his shoulders, Draco walked into the library - and stared.

Granger was inveigled in a book, strands of yarn wrapped around every extremity, holding her tight.

Draco Malfoy breathed out a sigh of relief. That had been one of his favorite books, as a child... It only wanted to cuddle, which, in the grim company of the rest of the Malfoy books, made it a safe playtoy for children.

"That was one of my favorites..." Draco Malfoy said awkwardly.

"Oh! Hello there, I didn't see you." Hermione Granger said, trying to bestir herself, only to realize how caught she was.

Draco waved his wand, muttering a quick spell. "I'll be taking that," he said as he relieved her of the book. Granger pouting at him was adorable, like a little kicked puppy.

Hermione Granger was again looking around the room, eyes wide as saucers.

"No, you can't take any with you. Anti-theft charms that are too old to understand borrowing." Draco Malfoy drawled. Granger stiffened, and looked at him. "We'd better get you back before the Dynamic Duo breaks down my front door."

[a/n: See? Done with a day! (or at least mostly - they still need to meet with Potter and Weasley.)

Leave a review at the door.]


	61. Died on his lips

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had been amusing themselves with a game of chess, while Hermione was out with... Malfoy. Well, they had at first, the first four hours or so. By now, though, it was growing dark, and they both had an edge of slight nervousness to them. If it had been anything truly serious, they well knew _no one_ would have dared _not_ tell them - even Malfoy, he had _survival_ instincts after all. But still, as the day faded into a bleak and cloudy night, they had crisps out and were idly starting another chess game.

"Crack!" was the lightning sound of apparation (outside, of course, it was considered bad manners to arrive in someone's flat without momentarily prior notice by floo.), and then they both stopped.

Listening, they heard the creak of two pairs of shoes - Malfoy's tight leather flats, and Hermione's... cursing. Then, instead of two pairs of shoes, they heard the "thunk" "thunk" "thunk" of hopping. Mildly concerned, Ron and Harry exchanged glances as the noise stopped.

* * *

Instead of arriving at the door in something like good order, by the time they were up the stairs, Hermione had her arm across Malfoy's shoulder (awkward, as they weren't the same height), and Draco Malfoy politely knocked at the door, having spent most of his hissed curses on the way up the stairs. Hermione knew her face was flushed - not because of the contact with the blond ferret, but because she couldn't handle her shoes. _Malfoy_ had actually suggested that she go barefoot...in _Botswana_ , where it would be perfectly in style.

* * *

There was a knock at the door, and Harry stood, fighting against the futile urge to dash towards the door. Either they were there, or they weren't, after all. Ron, naturally, was there first, opening the door - and then gawping at what he saw. Harry knew that Ron's eyes hit Hermione first - but his own didn't. They saw Malfoy, with a darker glare on his face than Harry'd ever seen him. Harry had a bitingly concerned question on his lips - _Did you have a good time?_ but it died in his throat at the sight.

"What happened?" Harry and Ron said simultaneously - each asking different things. Harry's laughter squelched into a smirk, his mind holding a tight leash, because he _really_ wanted answers. Giving Harry Potter nine hours to think of 'not quite harmful enough to involve the aurors' dangers meant his mind was littered with horrid ideas.

"My mother." Draco Malfoy said with a dark glower that Harry knew - instantly, that he was directing towards her, and not towards the rest of them.

"My ankle." Hermione said, as Malfoy helped her through the door (Ron instantly taking up the other side, as they both guided her to the couch). Hermione let out a sigh and asked for some ice (Ron nodded, walking out of the room). Malfoy, his wandmovements jerky with suppressed anger, waved the wand to reduce the swelling.

Harry crossed his arms casually, his eyes sharp and intent as they looked at Malfoy.

"Plan failed, Sir Potter," Malfoy said, the darkness in his first words changing into an icy jauntiness as false as his earlier black humor was real. Malfoy was one of those types who didn't like losing, and it had to be especially galling to have failed to read his own mother.

"Oh, and Granger can't walk up stairs." Malfoy said seeming not to notice the glare Granger shot him. "That happened afters." Malfoy bore a strange look on his face, ice-dark amusement warring with a wary concern.

Ron walked in, ice in hand, "What do you mean your mother happened?"

"I have met _yours_ , Ronald, surely you don't need remedial explanation?" Malfoy spat back, and Harry mentally realized that Malfoy was looking for anything to lash out at. Clearly, he wasn't the patient sort of angry today. For once - it seemed odd for Harry to watch Malfoy this... unguarded.

"His mother was a positive delight, she took me on a tour of the house, and then I sat down in the library with the most amazing book!" Hermione said, her eyes shining. The boys (all three of them) exchanged wary glances.

Harry's eyes snapped back to Hermione's when she said, "Hagrid would have loved it!"

"What?" Harry snapped, right alongside Ron's rather more affable cry.

"Relax, it's harmless... just like my mother gave Hermione a nice ball of string to play with." Draco Malfoy said.

"So what exactly happened?"

"My mother absconded with Hermione Granger - to give her a tour, as she stated - and left me to deal with her myriad harridan 'friends' !" Malfoy spat. "She was supposed to be furious, maybe even to kick me out of the house for my temerity."

"Are you so sure she wasn't?" Hermione said gravely, her eyes sparkling.

"What do you mean?!" Malfoy spat back, his anger suffusing his normally blank face.

"I think she was monumentally annoyed at you - for lying, of course." Hermione stated blandly. "Not that she's said a word either way, but then she wouldn't, would she?"

Draco Malfoy stormed out of the house, leaving Ron and Harry looking at each other awkwardly. "D'y' suppose - " Ron started.

Harry interrupted, "A bastard like that needs company? Nah, he'll be alright."

[a/n: And, end of Saturday. On to Sunday, which should prove amusing

Reviews welcome and desired!]


	62. Chilblains

One is capable of approaching a door with all number of feelings, Draco Malfoy thought. His heart sunk in uneasy quiescence, as he approached the Weasley's dwelling. He swore he heard the twins calling it "The Burrow" fourth year, but he couldn't sincerely say whether that was just an uniquely apt joke, or just a nickname in poor taste.

At least, Draco Malfoy comforted himself, he arrived "On Time" today - the twins were already there, as was Granger and ... Ronald. It felt almost indecent to be calling him by such a familiar term. They weren't friends, or even worktime associates like he was with Granger - and he still called her by her last name, too! But with this many Weasleys, there was little to be done. Perhaps if he gave them nicknames? Redhead, Sizzle, Red, TinRoof, - no, that was the problem, they looked nearly identical. "Freckle on the Left" and "Freckle on the Right"? Well, Draco Malfoy considered, those were certainly more promising.

Arthur came down the stairs, carrying decorations for the table (but so many that Draco was contemplating whether the man really was attempting assisted suicide by decorative silk flowers), so Draco Malfoy stood, "May I take some of those from you, sir?"

Arthur just blinked at him, looking a bit baffled at his courtesy, before he recovered. "Yes, yes of course." Draco took more than half the decorations, more serving as "Temporary Repository of Silly Things" than as "Interior Decorator" - his hands being too full to actually place things where they went.

Below him, someone was giggling at him and tugging on his pant leg. Reminding himself that he was only allowed to burn the pants once the evening was done, Draco kindly looked down at the gremlin and smiled. In fact, Draco even cooed, "Those are fifty galleon pants that you're destroying, but you don't know that, do you? I don't think you even know your own name now." Draco sighed, continuing in that fake cutesy voice, "Just watch you don't call me daddy by mistake, I might just walk off with you."

"Draco Malfoy!" Molly Weasley said, hitting him on the shoulder with a spoon long enough to leave a welt. "There will be no talk of attempted kidnappings in this house!"

Draco Malfoy looked at her with marble eyes, saying lightly, "I was trying to avoid that very thing."

At that sublimely awkward moment, Percy came through the floo, sending papers everywhere. Molly, among everyone else, scrambled to pick them up. Surprisingly, one of the few people not scrambling was Percy Weasley, who instead quietly walked over to Draco. "I didn't expect to see you here two weeks in a row." he said in his dryly genial fashion.

"I was led to believe that I had no choice." Draco Malfoy said stiffly. "I'm surprised you aren't trying to straighten them up."

"I reverse collated them anyway," Percy said, smiling an impish smile. "The twins will just sort them almost to perfect again."

Draco smirked at the unexpectedly clever Weasley. He reminded himself that the twins weren't the only ones with a sense of humor, even if Ronald had often seemed to have forgotten it entirely.

[a/n: Draco's views on Ron do not reflect my own. Draco has... a rather unique perspective.

Up Next: Cabbages!]


	63. Does Not Want

Hermione felt like she walked into a wall, entering the Weasley's house and seeing Draco Malfoy standing there.

For the second time.

Last week, she could have just pretended this was an abnormal situation (which it was), and convinced herself that Malfoy would be just the way he always was, the next day, with catty comments and enough meanness to paralyze an elephant. Come to think of it, he hadn't said a word... not really, not about the Burrow.

Time was, he'd have had a thousand different comments, and not a one of them nice.

Hermione didn't like Malfoy being here. He wasn't her friend, and he wasn't the type who did friendly things with coworkers. So, why was he here?

This was going to drive her to distraction, she sensed.

My name is Hermione Granger - _not if I can help it_.

As everyone sat down at the table, Hermione perked up from her lassitude, "Has anyone heard the story about Malfoys and Cabbages?" Down the table, Malfoy slunched in his seat, looking like he wanted to crawl completely under it. He hadn't even the strength to give Hermione an industrial strength glare.

And the entire table laughed too.

Perplexingly, Malfoy actually managed to get along with ... well, mostly everyone. Hermione had certainly expected him to find some way to be an ass. Worse, Ron and Harry were actively smiling and making small talk with Draco Malfoy. It felt like the world was turned on end, particularly when they all decided to do impressions of Madame Parkinson (a notorious spendthrift and society matron). The twins kept winking at Draco, and even Arthur was managing a decent impression of baffled civility.

Hermione couldn't wait to leave.

[a/n: Promise next one will be more ... engaging. Not up to doing twins humor today, sorries. Do you miss them?

Up Next: Monday and back to work!

Yes, Narcissa was fun. She'll be back.

Leave a review?]


	64. Seriously shouldn't tell her

Draco Malfoy had woken at dawn, cheerily awake with the robins and jays. It was such a good morning that he'd gotten his house elves to fix him some Manic Pixie Dreamgirl (He had _no idea_ where they came up with their names, but the drink was good) for himself and his boss.

His mom had even smiled at him as she waved goodbye. Well, Draco hoped that was a good sign. It was certainly cheering that his Mum hadn't decided to accompany him to the office for an outing. If she did that _again_ , he would feel like he was five, and tied to her apronstrings.

Hermione Granger, on the other hand, was in a very irritable mood in the morning, as she was trying to fit together three proposals into one proposal's space. It surely couldn't be having to deal with Draco's countenance early in the morning?

Draco left the enhanced cappuchino on Granger's desk with a bow, and a "Your Majesty" - the coffee was met by an absent-minded hand, and the title was met with a simple, heated glare.

Mmm... toasty. Draco Malfoy _seriously_ shouldn't tell Miss Granger that her anger had a curious warming quality that made him want to smirk like he was twelve again. She was entirely too good to do anything permanent, anyway. Pansy had been capable of far more destruction (including a memorable mass destruction of the entire Slytherin Common Room, and that'd been spelled to be unbreakable.).

Draco picked up his coffee, and opened his friend Pansy's new paper, "The bleeding edge." (It was apparently not a periodical about plastic surgery, more's the pity, but simply a gossip paper - that seemed to specialize in analyzing the other papers' gossip, particularly the Prophet.) Draco smirked through the foam on his Dreamgirl, enjoying the start of Pansy's revenge. Reporters were an older bunch, by and large, and hadn't learnt the hard way what stepping on a Slytherin witch's tail was likely to result in.

The flames would be glorious.

[a/n: Draco's being a prat, again. Not that he really realizes what he's doing, mind. But he's the type who can be irritating without even trying.

Leave a review?]


	65. Kablooie

It was only Tuesday. But Malfoy was being an _infuriating_ bastard again. It wasn't enough that he was always working over lunch on something _mysterious_. Something that no matter what angle Hermione looked at, she couldn't get a good read about. Oh, no, he had to intrude, bringing coffee of all things, while she was _concentrating_.

"Your majesty? I thought you might want to-" Draco Malfoy cut off, looking hard at Hermione Granger, whose eyes were narrowed to slits.

"That's enough." Hermione spat, and stood. Before Draco could so much as get out a word of apology, she started to cast. Hermione Granger had been saving up all sorts of good spells just for such an occasion.

* * *

Draco knew his cue when he saw it, and Hermione's mouth curling around _those_ syllables meant he was just a shade late. Draco flung himself out the door, flying down the hall before jumping over a cubicle wall (nearly landing on its occupant). Behind him, he could feel flames, and water - and wind. He didn't stop, didn't pause, didn't try to defend. No, his only goal right now was escape.

With an oath, he slid down a hall, tumbling into a somersault that put him through Percy Weasley's desk. He could picture Weasley's eyes widening in surprise as he (well experienced in chaos theory) spread his legs to allow Draco a decent exit. With a smirk, Draco waved his wand, and the disillusionment charm on his note faded. "For your discretion" it read, and gave Percy a five galleon note.

Hermione was quite a bit more clumsy (though, to be fair, she hadn't set anything up), so she vaulted over Percy's desk, in hot pursuit of Malfoy. Well, and to the good, Malfoy thought, enjoying the rush of wind and waves over him.

I'm going to look like a drowned rat by the time this is done, Malfoy thought, giggling to himself. As he headed down the stairs, he walked straight into the flash of a camera. _Good_ Malfoy thought, someone was paying attention. Ducking a flock of birds, he rolled under a desk, trying to hide in order to get his breath back again. _I should sue for this!_ He thought, giggling furiously at the thought of his twelve year old self's reaction to Granger.

By the time that they had flown through the Auror's wing, and were nearly down to the Department of Mysteries (again), Hermione Granger's temper was starting to flag. So, Malfoy helped, a little.

By sticking his head out, and waving in triumph.

Which just made her temper blaze worse.

Still, this time he was able to lead her along, rather than just running pell mell _away_.

Which is how they made it up to their own office (well, really Granger's). Hermione rounded the corner (stepping off the stairs), and stared at the devastation she had wrecked on the poor people who sat in front of her office. Some papers were smouldering, a good few looked so drowned that the ink had fully run off, and the rest were windswept into small trashy piles in the corners of cubicles.

"Oh, god. What have I done?" Hermione said weakly, her legs starting to shake.

Draco Malfoy smirked, "Annual Paperwork Drill, proving that all flammable or hydroable or blowable important documents have been properly proofed against destruction."

Hermione Granger looked at Draco Malfoy, her eyes nearly popping out of her head.

Draco simply passed her the paperwork from the Minister of Magic. Ever since he'd started working here, he'd made sure to keep it on hand.

[a/n: Yes, the photos will show up. Tomorrow.

Leave a review?

Draco may be an irritating git, but he doesn't really mean to be.]


	66. Give him this much

Draco Malfoy left at his usual, after hours time. Fewer people stared that way, he'd found. Unfortunately, a shadow detatched from the wall, revealing itself to be Harry Potter. "I told you this was going to happen."

"I know, I tried to mitigate it, but..."

"A git's a git?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Now, you, you can be a helpful arsehole and show up tomorrow."

"You need witnesses in case you kill her?"

"No, I need witnesses in case she kills me."

"Did you have to wreck the entire Auror Department?"

"I sent out the memo."

"I don't read memos, I have a secretary." Harry belatedly realized how mean that was, and opened his mouth.

"Had a secretary." Draco said. "Termination is one of the pertinent clauses, for negligence towards office paperwork."

* * *

Hermione had decided yesterday... after the incident, that she needed some rest. And sleep, plenty of good solid sleep. Clearly she had been entirely too sleep deprived if destroying the entire Ministry's paper records had counted as some sort of weird stress relief.

She awoke a trifle late the next day, giving herself a wicked smile at sleeping in. She knew, or at least wanted to know, that working herself to death wasn't good for any of her plans.

As she flooed into her office, she saw Malfoy, crisp as ever, putting her tea down on her desk. Along with - two papers? Give Malfoy this much, he was utterly inflappable - and, he hadn't sued her. Yet.

If she looked on the positive, she might manage to get through today alive. And without the entire ministry hunting for her blood. Again.

She glanced down at the two papers - the first was the Daily Prophet, and therefore expected and derided at once. The second? The Bleeding Edge, a gossip magazine by any other name. And yet... Hermione's gaze sharpened. The paper touted, "The TRUE Story of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy's relationship."

Ah, well she could at least understand why it was on her desk, then. And then...

And then, she noticed (rather belatedly) a most intriguing detail. "Interview with Percy Weasley within!" And that was both strange, and odd. Few people knew enough to talk to Percy about gossip at the ministry (he had quite the ear, she'd discovered), and fewer still would publish a single thing the "bound to be boring" man had to say in a magazine. Let alone one that's mostly gossip.

So, of course, she ignored the rest of the paper, and flipped to Percy's interview.

"What can you tell us about this spat? The Daily Prophet called it a lover's quarrel...?" The question intoned.

"One hardly plans lover's spats with two weeks notice and the signature of the Minister of Magic himself," Percy said snottily.

"Do you have evidence of this?"

"Aside from the fact that my office is still standing, with every paper exactly where it ought to be?" Percy spat back, "Of course."

The paper devoted a large chunk of its real estate to showing the memo.

"So the affair was complete rubbish?"

"Of course. I'm Ron's brother, and, trust me, if Hermione was cheating on him, I'd know." Hermione's face curled into a sadistic smile, as she realized that every single Weasley would know, if that were to happen.

Without even opening it, Hermione set fire to the Daily Prophet.

At Malfoy's questioning look, she simply said, "It's not worth it."


	67. Boys!

Harry and Ron weren't normally timid people. In fact, in their day to day jobs, they were Aurors, a profession famed for being abrasive and a trifle rude at times. However, after coming back from a mission and seeing the near-absolute destruction of their entire department's paperwork, they were understandably a little on edge about approaching the Great Git and Granger, too. *

Instead of actually heading in, they employed some of their usual stealth by creeping to the edge of the door and peering in (crouching down behind a potted plant for better cover).

"You can go in, you know." Draco drawled from behind Potter's ear. They both jumped to their feet, Potter's wand in his hand, and half a stunner sketched out before he could stop himself.

"Blimey! Don't do that, it's bad for my heart!" Harry Potter said, actually clutching at his heart.

"Bad for your heart?" Draco Malfoy drawled, his voice giving an excellent impression of offense, "It's worse for my heart. I'm not a Death Eater anymore, you know."

Harry's eyes flashed angrily, as he said, "Some of us haven't left the war behind quite yet."

"He's done that to me too." Ron said, somehow managing an awkward grin, "It's not because of your hair color."

And, with that silly and small comment, the tension dissolved into laughter. A full five minutes of it, which was enough to bait Granger out of her office.

"Boys! What are you doing here?"

*They didn't ask anyone _when_ it happened, poor dears.

[a/n: why are they there? take a guess or write a different sort of review.]


	68. Pizza Party

Harry and Ron moved as two arms of a giant, grabbing Hermione by an arm apiece. "We'll just be taking her, then" Harry said, even as they lifted her bodily.

With an awkward squawk, Hermione tried to dig her heels into the ground, but discovered that they didn't really reach that far. "I've got work to do! You can't drag me out of here."

"I _am_ capable of doing the work of two..." Draco Malfoy drawled loudly. "Thanks for your confidence in me, your majesty." Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say, as Hermione started trying to tear free of her much larger, much stronger friends. The one bonus about teasing a muggleborn - when completely over the edge, they tend to forget they have wands.

"Where are you taking me?!" Hermione wailed, and Draco Malfoy smiled as he heard Harry's smile saying, "Pizza Party."

"Yeah, we've clearly been ignoring you too much," Ron said contemplatively.

"But I've got work to do!" Hermione wailed.

"You'll work better once you've got whatever-this-is off your chest." Harry said calmly, "And you know it."

"WHY do you have to be right?!" Hermione shouted even as her friends tugged her into the floo.

Draco Malfoy stopped gandering at the Gryffindors, and walked back into the office, sitting down at his desk and working methodically and quickly.

[a/n: Whee! An intervention for Hermione.

Leave a review.]


	69. PizzaParty

Oh, the smell of cheese and tomato and greasy crust! Harry Potter thought, as he ran three full pizzas up for his friends. Hermione was still spiky, still upset.

It was only as she was halfway through her first slice that she started speaking. It started, as Harry had known it would, about those stupid, stupid runes Malfoy was working on. Apparently he'd nearly been shoving the "It's a Mystery" card in Hermione's face. And Hermione'd never taken well to mysteries she couldn't solve. Preferably immediately. (To be fair, Harry thought, he'd been the same way).

Then there were the subtler insults, and jabs - Harry hadn't even realized she'd been upset when Pansy had gone out with Malfoy and Ron hadn't bothered to do a damn thing for her friday lunch. Actually, Harry was well aware that if Malfoy hadn't done anything, Hermione wouldn't have cottoned onto the idea that anything was wrong.

She was busy like that, and losing her workpartner, even for a half hour, would have knocked her out of her normal flow.

Halfway through the pizza, Hermione was actively ranting on how competent Malfoy was. How she couldn't just fire him - and how the HELL did he know she was going to blow up on him?!

"You did punch him before," Ron offered helpfully (not helpful!)

"I might have seen this coming" Harry said, as both his friends glared daggers at him.

By the end of the pizza, Hermione was ranting about this "Your Majesty" comment that seemed perfectly designed to drive daggers into her arm. The one that was already scarred. That one.

Except... Harry knew that if Malfoy was actually savoring a victory, or wanted a victory, he'd have been smirking up a storm.

"Hermione..." Harry asked tentatively, "Did you ever answer his question?"

Hermione simply stared back at Harry with her mouth open (full of half-chewed food, even).

Well, at least that was one problem he could fix.

[a/n: Harry likes solving problems. And Hermione very, very badly needed to vent.

Leave a review? UpNext: Narcissa The TerrorMum is back!]


	70. Just Say Yes

The next day, Harry Potter was actually first at Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy's office. This was quite intentional, as he intended to "keep the peace." Or, as Ron Weasley would put it - Make certain the ministry itself survives the day. Because, judging by two days ago, it might not.

Harry was aware he was exaggerating. That didn't mean that he had any less obligation to be here, though. Hermione was his best friend, and Malfoy? He'd at least not managed to insult people to the point of wands, and had managed that for weeks. Time was, Harry'd been impressed if Malfoy could have managed that for five minutes.

People changed.

That was something that he'd had ground into him in Auror training, and he found himself reviewing what Malfoy had done, these last few weeks. He'd shown exceptional dedication (better than Ron or Harry could have managed - together), a meticulousness that soothed Hermione's savage soul, and even seemed to occasionally show a grasp of how to be a human being.

All in all, Harry'd been around far worse exemplars of the human condition.

Malfoy deserved more credit than Hermione'd been giving him, Harry was quietly certain of. Of course, alongside the credit for actual Ministry Accomplishments, you'd also have to give him credit for "Driving Hermione Granger Mad." But, by all means, give him credit.

Draco Malfoy strode down the hall, his pale hands flicking at his charcoal gray robe, brushing nonexistent bits of ash off of his singularly ash-colored robes.

"Malfoy," Harry Potter greeted, still habitually out of the line of sight of most of the office. Most people would ascribe that to Auror training, but really? Harry Potter hated gossip. Hated fans. Hated being the person people made rumors out of simply for fun. So, he'd gotten used to hiding. Even now, when there wasn't at all a reason for him to be hiding (Granger and Malfoy arrived a full hour earlier than the rest of the building).

"Nobody dead yet?" Malfoy said.

Harry Potter responded by slapping Malfoy on the back - which drew a startled look, as if no one had ever expressed cameraderie with Malfoy by clopping him on the back. Actually, Harry Potter thought, maybe no one had... "You seem quite tangible, so I think the odds are good that everyone's still in the realm of the living."

"For now!" Draco Malfoy said, holding up one of the two cups of steaming coffee he had in his hands, sending a toast Potter's way. "Hope you don't mind... since you dropped in unannounced, I don't have any coffee for you."

"Naturally. Harry Potter said.

[Happy Thursday! We're on week three.

Leave a review.

Or, actually, just read on. Should have another chapter or two for Terrible Thursday.]


	71. , early

"You're here... early." Draco Malfoy said, sitting at his desk. Harry Potter barely nodded back, showing just how half asleep he really was. "I have work to do, so if you're so good at being invisible - vamoose."

Harry sat down in Hermione's chair, put his arms behind his head, and leaned backward. Draco Malfoy wanted to sigh, but he really didn't have time to pay attention to Potter's antics. Potter was probably going to either dent the floor or his preciously thick skull, and either way, Malfoy would be stuck dealing with the blood. Merlin forbid the git knock himself unconscious, then everyone would be blaming Malfoy for a perfectly avoidable accident.

Draco Malfoy buried himself in his work, pages slipped by like grains of sand falling out of an hourglass. "Ahah!" He cried out, three quarters of the way through a "meaningless" file.

Potter opened his eyes and looked at him - coming back from the "sure to kill himself" leaning back pose. As that was to be encouraged (if only to save Draco some hassle), Draco said, "They forgot to sign the third to last signatory line."

"What does that mean?"

"Entire thing's invalid. Along with the empire built on it."

"Empire?" Harry said, eyes starting to wake up and seem more interesting.

"Puffsteins, actually." Draco Malfoy said, knowing, without having to hear it, what the next question was going to be.

"Puffskeins?" Potter, very very very predictably said.

"No, puffsteins. It's putting a puffskein in a stein. Apparently it makes a great gift for beer-swilling women." Draco Malfoy said skeptically.

"Well, you'd know, wouldn't you? Being Germanic and all that?" Harry Potter said amiably.

"My family's French." Draco Malfoy corrected irritably, as if he'd heard that one from every. Single. FirstYear. EVER.

"Huh. You always looked so... Prusian." Potter said, and Malfoy had to give him points for originality.

Of course, Hermione Granger came in at that moment, and such precisely good timing meant that everything possible was going to go wrong for the rest of the day.

Starting with Hermione. Granger.

She was fidgeting. Standing there, fidgeting. Looking at Draco, and fidgeting.

It was driving him up the wall. He wanted to shout at her to say whatever the HELL she had to say, and get on with it already.

"What?" Draco Malfoy snapped. Patience had never been his strong suit, after all - at least not when his curiosity got the better of him.

"Erm, Hi Harry." Hermione said instead, looking at Harry Potter sitting in her chair.

Oddly, he just looked back, some sort of strange psychic conversation going on between them, as Hermione belatedly straightened, and looked at Draco Malfoy, dead in the eye.

"Hi, I'm Hermione Granger. You can call me Hermione. Or boss, that works too, I suppose." Hermione Granger held out her hand as if she honestly expected him to shake it.

Draco Malfoy loathed doing the predictable, and with an audience to boot. So, Draco Malfoy grabbed her right hand in his left, lifting it up to his face as he slightly knelt in a medievally inflected bow, saying, "Enchanted." as he pressed his lips to the top of her hand.

Draco Malfoy savored the completely dumbfounded look on Hermione Granger's face. It wasn't often the wordy witch was shocked to silence, after all.

"Oi! Why's everyone doing these formal introductions? It's not like you haven't know each other for years!?" Ron Weasley said, chomping on a donut, his lanky form leaning against the doorframe of the office. When Draco Malfoy did that, it looked comfortable and relaxed - when Ron Weasley did it, it mostly looked cramped, as he took up the entire doorframe, despite leaning against it.

[a/n: Awkwaard. Leave a review?

Draco Malfoy really, really wasn't trying to get that far under Hermione's skin.

Still, he wouldn't be Malfoy if he didn't delight in the unexpected.

(second post of the day)]


	72. Narcissa Black-Malfoy

Things were relatively calm, which was just how Hermione liked it. She did, begrudgingly, have to admit that her best friends had had a point about Malfoy. Once she'd vented, she felt relatively calm around Malfoy. Considering that she'd gone through half the Ministry with high tide and flame, and at the end was still furious at Malfoy? Maybe she really had just needed some time to cool off.

Besides, this afternoon they had to give their presentation on the werewolves. And without Malfoy, she wouldn't have half the evidence for their reintegration into society (no matter _how_ he'd gotten the information, the point was, he'd _gotten_ it.)

At least the busybodies had decided that Hermione and Malfoy were not an item. Which was a relief, because their infernal, incessant giggling was starting to drive Hermione mad. Judging by the number of broken quills, the bubbly girls had been getting to Malfoy more than Hermione herself. And here she'd half thought he'd be preening and mugging for the crowd.

 _I wonder what his agenda really is?_ Hermione thouht pensively. Can't _possibly_ be a job in the ministry. When even his mum doesn't take his job seriously... Then again, Narcissa Malfoy might loathe the idea of her precious son working in the first place. Might not be personal, even.

Hermione yawned, shaking her head briefly at Draco Malfoy when he looked up inquiringly, his eyes and manner suggesting that he could readily grab her a coffee. "I'll just go get a coffee for me then," Draco Malfoy said, yawning next in the sequence (as there weren't anyone else in the room, the sequence met a short and brutal death.).

At that point, the floo flared into life, and whose head stuck itself into the floo, but Narcissa Malfoy's. "Oh, Hermione! Glad to have caught you, before you headed out to one of those important meetings of yours. Or maybe you've finally found the time for lunch - there's this delightful place near the ministry..." Narcissa Malfoy's face broke off, as she looked down, and said softly, "Drat."

"Mrs. Malfoy?" Hermione Granger asked, slightly formally, "Do you have some Ministry business to conduct?"

"Of course not!" Narcissa Malfoy said, her silvery laughter ringing through Hermione's room and out into the halls. With her luck, her boss was going to hear this. "I just wanted to invite you to my fox hunt on Tuesday. I do so hope you can make it."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. A FOX Hunt?! In this day and age? She was momentarily speechless.

"Excuse me a moment, Mother. Urgent Ministry business." Draco Malfoy said, pulling Hermione Granger out of the floo's vision. Most people wouldn't have noticed just exactly how pale Draco Malfoy was, or how tense he was either - of course, most people didn't have him pulling on their arm, either.

On a long piece of parchment, Draco Malfoy had written in his elegant cursive, "Agree to whatever she wants."

Hermione, fighting back a sigh, wrote, "But, I hate the very idea of fox hunts! How could I possibly-?"

"Then tell her that. When you get there." Draco Malfoy wrote hurriedly.

"But-!" Hermione wrote, before Draco Malfoy snatched it out of her hand.

"Accept, now. Talk later." Draco Malfoy said.

Hermione wrote back, even as she walked toward the floo, "As you wish," letting the parchment drop before Narcissa was able to see it.

"Tuesday would be lovely." Hermione said with a smile that she tried to make look genuine.

"Would 2 work, or do we have to work around your lunch?" Narcissa Malfoy said.

"If it's less than two hours, it would be best if you started at eleven, Mother. Meetings are preferentially scheduled for the afternoon." Draco Malfoy, now firmly in his 'butler persona' spoke up.

"Thank you dear," Narcissa Malfoy said absently. "I look forward to seeing you then, Miss Granger." And the floo went out.

"What-?" Hermione Granger said, whirling to glare at Draco Malfoy, her hands on her hips.

Draco Malfoy growled through clenched teeth, "I do not control my mother. She is a formidable witch, and someone you should be cautious of."

"Then why did you tell me to accept?" Hermione said.

Draco Malfoy spelled the door shut, something he should have done earlier, Hermione thought, of course she'd been upset and not-thinking too.

"Because I know my mother, and if you shut her out, she will come right down here and bang down your door to talk with her." Draco Malfoy said, "She's done that before."

Hermione looked at Draco, her eyes widening in incredulity. "What's wrong with that?"

"One Malfoy, particularly me, in a subservient role? Explainable. Narcissa Black-Malfoy, in the Ministry, at your door? You do NOT want people seeing that."

"Why not?" Hermione asked, feeling a sudden spike of trepidation that she devoutly didn't want to call fear.

"They'll think the Malfoys are behind you. Backing you, whatever." Draco Malfoy said, shoving his hands in his pockets. " _Nothing_ that you do from that time forth will be seen as your own."

"And you aren't exactly well liked, either." Hermione finished softly.

[a/n: Narcissa Malfoy, everyone.

Leave a review?]

[a/n


	73. Ringside Seating

[a/n: Draco's POV of last chapter]

Draco Malfoy was halfway out the door, looking for coffee when he heard the floo behind him. That was unusual, to say the least. The Ministry officials tended to use the pneumatics, and he was in charge of Granger's schedule. So an unscheduled floo opening meant _trouble_.

Draco wasn't a Slytherin for nothing, however. He slowed his generally long pace, and heard...

His Mother's Voice.

For a moment he froze, rage boiling in his veins...

And that was all it took to hear his **mother** addressing _Hermione_.

All that rage turned to ice, to fear that his Mother was being her usual uncontrollable self. She _knew_ how he hated her interfering with work!

This must be revenge, Draco thought, scrambling to get back to the office.

"... My Fox Hunt on Tuesday..." His mother was saying.

Draco didn't hear another word, because his eyes were on Granger's visage. She had murder in her eyes, and on another person that might have twisted her beauty. Not Hermione Granger - that look suited her like a glove, vicious termagant that she was.

Still, Draco thought, I'd better stop this. Before it turns ugly. Mum won't stop if Granger says no, and she'll come here, where Granger can't avoid her... and worse... _everyone_ will see!

That's worse than ugly, that's career suicide.

Draco lunged at Hermione Granger, tugging her off with a hurried line to his mother about urgency.

"Accept, now. Talk Later" Draco urgently scrawled, drawing three underlines underneath it and then debating about exclamation points.

He felt a breath of cleansing air rush through him, as Hermione wrote back, "As you wish."

The sickening feeling in his gut didn't go away, though, as Hermione accepted.

[a/n: Draco's nearly as much in the dark about his mum as Hermione is. Review?]


	74. Double Cappuchino

Draco Malfoy had a cappucino as usual. He had gotten his boss a double cappuchino, realizing that she was going to need the energy to actually present their case on Werewolf Rights. He supposed they had a decent shot of converting their own department head, and the Aurors would be in favor so long as they had enough muscle behind the consequences if anyone strayed off the straight and narrow. That left Sports and Games, which ordinarily wouldn't have cared, but Draco had been getting some hostile looks... and of course the Department of Mysteries, but like Severus Snape, it was never wise to say you knew anything about them. The Muggle Office would also have something to say, but that was likely to be limited to "keep them out of muggle regions", and possibly advocating for some strictures to make sure of it.

As it was, Draco Malfoy was bored. Very, very bored. Hermione Granger was giving the speech he'd written (which was expected). She was doing a good job of it too, but that wasn't the issue. The issue was that Draco Malfoy was bored. He couldn't even listen "in case she made a mistake" because this was Granger, and he'd been listening to the same speech all morning. Idly, he began to create a design on his tablet, sketching in Ancient Runes to see if he could find an answer to Xeno's Riddle.

Hermione Granger suddenly said, "if you will excuse me a moment." And cast Muffliato, her blazing eyes glaring down at Draco Malfoy. "Malfoy, you could at least pretend to care about what I'm saying."

Draco Malfoy looked up, and said, "But that would ruin my concentration!"

"You can concentrate on what I'm saying..."

"No, I really can't. Ten times is enough for one day!"

"But what if I forget something."

"You won't. And if you do, someone else will ask a question about it."

"Who?"

"Potter or your boyfriend." Draco Malfoy drawled. "You _have_ practiced it at least once with them listening?"

Hermione gave a nod, and then looked up, belatedly realizing that everyone in the room was pawing at their ears, trying to get the buzzing to go away.

Draco Malfoy smirked at the looks on the Department Heads' faces, before canceling the Muffliato, a split second before Hermione did. So her finite, instead, canceled the loudspeaker effect.

This was even more amusing! If, well, a little less well prepared than he'd wanted them to seem. Still, it had an unexpected effect- everyone was happy to acquiesce to Hermione Granger's complete, unredacted, proposal - if only to ensure that she wouldn't find another reason to flame the entire building.

Life was good.

[a/n: Draco Malfoy isn't ... the world's most patient secretary. He's far better at "getting things done" than "look pretty while the Big Girls present your work." He really shouldn't have been brought to the presentation, hermione, that's on you.

Please write a review.]


	75. Narcissa's Garden Party

Had Draco Malfoy mentioned how much he hated garden parties?

Yes. Yes, he had. And loudly, to anyone who would listen.

The issue was not, of course, that nobody would listen. It was that his mother wouldn't listen.

Of course, he hadn't hated garden parties when he was a child. He would find some nice place to sit and play with the other children (hopefully out of the direct sun. It wasn't that he disliked the sun, it was that the sun disliked his fair skin.)

But for the past five years, his mother had been wife-hunting. Specifically, for her unattached son. Nevermind that he'd told her (repeatedly) that he wasn't looking to get married. Nevermind that he spent as much time as possible Not In The Manor for the express purpose of Not Getting Married Yet (of course there were other reasons... He was a Slytherin after all).

And the worst part was? That only made his mother try harder. She'd give him that look that she thought made him feel guilty, tell him all about how his poor mother just wanted some grandbabies to play with. Draco Malfoy would rather have introduced her to the half-werewolf part of the family than actually have children. Really. Actually, that was not a half bad idea, now that he thought about it...

If he were particularly lucky, his mother would even have taken the hint from last party, and stop throwing witches at him like he was a lodestone, hoping that at least one would magnetically _stick_. If he were merely commonly lucky, she'd spend any time with him complaining about The Mudblood. If he were unlucky, however - he'd need to be light on his feet, as his mother would be upset. One did not upset Narcissa Malfoy lightly, even if one was her only child.

Still, today was going to be different. He'd had an idea, and that would make this party tolerable, at least.

Draco Malfoy straightened his perfect suit (which wasn't unstraight, it was merely habit), looked himself over in the mirror, again, and walked downstairs to stand in the foyer and greet his mother's guests. With her standing right there, he daren't be specifically rude to them. "Madame Parkinson, a pleasure to see you again." Draco Malfoy said, in his best imitation of the particular, precise tone of affable geniality shot through with Slytherin coldness that his father had often used to greet guests. Before.

[a/n: What is Draco Malfoy up to? Leave your guesses in the reviews - or just write me a comment.]


	76. Splatterdash

It started with an explosion in the far roses. Bright, brilliant white light splashing across the sky. And there were more, the sound and fury drawing people outside, as Draco Malfoy calmly drained his red wine on the balcony, saying softly to himself, "Fireflowers."

Most of the faces down below were scared, some horrified.

But the party had barely started, yet.

 _Here come the pies!_ Draco Malfoy thought, as he saw those two redheaded rapscallions spreading mayhem among the guests. He didn't mean to stay up here the whole time, of course. But savoring the expression of Madame Parkinson when her face was completely coated in whipped cream and sour cherries - to go with her general sour disposition...

Absolutely priceless.

As was his mother's scandalized look as she took one to the face - and then grabbed one off the other twin and smacked the first directly in the face as well. He was fairly certain that he'd been the only one to see the sparkle in her eyes as she looked quite so scandalized. "Oh, dear, how clumsy of me!" She said, and smirked. That was Mother for you. Proper to the ends of the Earth, but just as willing to give as to get.

And there was the flash of a camera. He hadn't known how useful that business card from the Creeveys' would be, but he'd been glad to take it at the time. Some sadsack reporter on the Society beat would have to write the article. But, truly, the pictures told the tale.

This would be quite possibly the one and only time the Prophet would be bought for the Society Section Alone.

Draco Malfoy smiled, as visions of profit danced in his head. Shaking himself out of them, he climbed onto a broom, and headed down to get his own face covered in cream.

He'd save some pictures for himself and his Mum, of course. This was targeted character assassination, after all, as well as a naked bribe to the Weasleys - for good behavior. Besides, everyone who knew Madame Parkinson had been tempted to wipe that sour look off her face. And she wasn't the only old battleaxe who could use a little lightening up. Madame Longbottom was just the same - though she certainly had more reason for looking sour.

[a/n: How'd I do? Want more? Leave a review.]


	77. From another point of view

Narcissa Malfoy sheathed her face in outrage, managing to sideswipe one of the redheaded ?twins? and shove him completely into Lord Parkinson, whose stuffy demeanor could only be helped with a healthy dose of whipped cream. And lemon creme, apparently.

She knew her son was behind this, and she spun through the disorganized crowd looking for him, her face looking shocked, surprised, and a trifle flabbergasted. The outrageously bright colors and sounds were _completely destroying_ her party, after all. She had a perfect right to look upset, and to want to look after her lazeabout son.

Not that he was that, anymore. Narcissa was quite proud of him, in fact, even if Narcissa Malfoy knew better than to show it.

Finally, she saw her son, and took a running leap towards him, her hands outstretched, "Draco, Draco, have you ever seen the like?! My party's ru-ined!" Her face was a picture of horror, as if she were about to start crying (which she obviously wouldn't, it would make her makeup run, and who wanted to look like a raccoon in the papers?)

Draco Malfoy, like the wastrel she often pretended he was, skillfully ducked her hug, giving her a slight push towards one of the redheaded hellions. Who, naturally, was ready with a nice peach pie. Narcissa had always loved peaches, after all.

And so it was that everyone was treated to Narcissa Malfoy stomping her delicate foot in outrage, as the twins scampered around, ribbons of orange and even flourescent yellow vieing with fireworks and other bits of mayhem.

The chaos ended with a bigger bang than it had started, Fireworks everywhere, and the Weasleys (for who else would have that outrageous shade of hair) leaving in a puff of vivid purple smoke.

Narcissa Malfoy cradled herself in her son's strong, limber arms, sobbing without a tear, as they bid their guests adieu. Unlike ordinary leaving lines, this one did not turn into an endless cavalcade of "Such a pleasant party, we hope to see you again next year." in rather insipid bids to be invited back.

Inwardly, Narcissa Malfoy was pleased. This had her son's fingerprints all over it, and that was all to the good, no matter how many plans of hers it shattered. Hell, she'd make a hundred more plans, if he could only shatter them this splendidly.

[a/n: Leave a review. Have you figured out anything of what's going on? What Draco's plot is? What Narcissa was planning, what Draco's neatly scotched?]


	78. The Next Day's Paper

Everyone in Wizarding England saw the Daily Prophet the next day.

Not because everyone had a subscription, nor even they were being given away for free.

No, everyone saw the paper because it was so lively interestin'. Not a person could put it down - nor refrain from passing it to their neighbor.

The pictures were delicious, sending sparkles of lively laughter throughout the land.

Even so, this is a story about particular people, so let us take a peek at particular reactions.

Draco Malfoy looked smug, as he dined out on his bedroom's balcony. The paper was brilliant. Every shot had come out wonderfully (except for the few that he'd reserved for more private amusement), and even the drab reporter had managed to get the correct tone of disgust and despair. There was even an opinion piece on the infamous rapscallions the Weasley Twins Were And Ever Would Be. Which was both truth, and tremendously great advertising. Draco Malfoy could nearly feel his own pockets getting heavier - he had a substantial share of the Daily Prophet under his control, and this would only send its value higher.

Molly nearly fainted when she got to the society pages. "Arthur! Arthur!" she shrieked, and her husband rushed to her side. As he caught sight of the paper, he was hardpressed to contain his merriment. "Oh, Arthur, they're going to get sent to Prison! You saw what they did at the Malfoy's!"

"Wait a moment, Molly dearest," Arthur said, skimming the paper with ruthless efficiency. "There's not a mention of breaking and entering in here, which means it doesn't exist."

"Really? How do you know?" Molly asked.

"Muckracking reporters want to dig up the worst about any incident, so if there was any hint of illegal breaking and entering, they'd have put that front and center." Arthur Weasley sighed, and continued, "Besides, they haven't even so much as hinted at that feud Mister Malfoy and I had, and that was notorious enough to get a sidelong mention." Molly struggled to get her tears back under control.

Folding the paper neatly, Arthur smiled, and said, "I suppose I finally know what happened when Draco Malfoy and our dear twins retreated into the library."

"You- You think they planned this? Together?" Molly said, her eyes still red from crying, but her mouth grinning warmly.

"I truly can't think of a better way to sink that stupid feud." Arthur says with a warm smile.

[a/n: we'll get the other reactions next installment. Got someone in particular you want to see their reactions to this? (hint, Luna, hint)

Leave a review and let me know.]


	79. Golden Ticket

Gin Weasley was reading the paper in the morning, sitting at the table beside Harry Potter, her roommate. Opening to the society pages, she gasped, and then snorted through her nose.

Harry didn't wait for her to speak, he'd grabbed the paper straight out of her hands. His eyes caught the first three pictures, as his face brightened. His mouth split into a grin that reached to his ears. He rolled the paper up, leaped to his feet, and cried, "I'm RICH! Ginny, I'm Rich!"

"What?" Ginny asked, rising to her tiptoes, in a stance that Harry knew would result in her leaping for the paper.

Harry didn't give her time for that, grabbing her into his arms and whirling her around, "Rich!" He laughed, and the sound must have been contagious, as she laughed too.

And then Harry Potter started to tapdance, "I've got a golden ticket! We've got a golden ticket!" It took him about two minutes before he realized that Ginny was giving him _the look_.

He paused, mid tap, and said, chagrined, "I forgot, you've never seen that movie!" Laughing, he swept Ginny up into his arms, "That's the first thing we'll do!" Harry Potter is a force of nature, when he gets it in his head to do something. He's had lots of practice - having learned the trick from Hermione Granger, the original Bull On A Mission.

And so it was when they were standing in line for a movie theater (that Harry had rented the entirety of, but still insisted on sitting in line and buying popcorn at the refreshment stand), that Ginny cautiously asked, "So now you're rich?"

Harry grinned, as if he was sharing a secret, "Well, more so, I guess." And then, looking strangely abashed, he said - straight to his feet - "Really, I just always wanted to do that."

" _Ha-Rry!_ " Ginny cried.

[a/n: ... and some days the characters just say "This'll be _fun_!"

Hope you enjoy ManicHarry. Leave a review if you do, or don't.

He invited everyone to the movie theater. It's not like he rented it for two people - that's a trick Malfoy would do, mostly because Malfoy doesn't know that a movie theater with only two people is quite lonely.]


	80. Skivin'

Neville Longbottom folded the society page and passed it to his grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, "You know those dusty old parties I never attend?"

Augusta, taking the paper, said, "Oh, you mean the ones the snobs throw? No half bloods allowed?"

"Yeah." Neville said, "Seems like I may have missed the only intriguing party they're _ever_ likely to have."

Interest piqued, Augusta opened the paper and began to hunt for the details. "Deviltry and merriment." Augusta condemned with a snort.

Pansy Parkinson, looked at the paper just long enough to pass it to her mum. Her mum got that prunefaced look that she always got when she'd lost dignity and was going to make someone pay. In this case, the Weasley twins, as Pansy well knew her mother didn't have enough wit to even remember that the wards weren't breeched. No, her mum hadn't even said goodbye, simply stormed out.

"Malfoy..." Pansy singsonged into the floo, "Drakey-bear" If there was nickname that Draco hated, it was that one. Pansy'd called him that when he'd been crying over a teddy when he was five, and she'd never really stopped. Not when she needed his attention - and fury.

"Pans, what the fuck?" Malfoy said, looking into the floo from his side.

"Did you mean to send my mum to Azkaban for that little joke you played on her?" Pansy drawled. "Because that's in extremely poor taste. You know she doesn't have a sense of humor."

Malfoy, finally waking up enough to figure out what was going on, simply sighed. "Of course not, Pans." He absentmindedly straightened his hair (which promptly stood up straight again - the fine hair required hairgel to look anything resembling neat. "I'll deal with it."

"You?" Pansy said, her mouth curling into a wicked smirk. "You're going into that redheaded menace of a shop?"

"Yes, me..." Malfoy sighed. "Someone has to stop your mum."

[a/n: Pansy has a sense of humor, hence the nickname. Leave a review?]


	81. Draco Malfoy with Pink Hair

Draco Malfoy let out a small sigh, as he apparated to far enough away from the Burrow (what a name for a house!) to not be immediately visible.

He had pink hair. Of course, he also had purple hair, and there was a hideous streak of orange that made him look washed out (and no, he wasn't vain, but his Mother had _insisted_ he learn his color charts like his star signs).

He affected an air of dignity that his current couture would abysmally ruin. He didn't mind. It had saved Parkinson from soul-draining prison - and unlike The Dragon Formidable, he actually did have a sense of humor. Not that that had saved her from trial and ruin. No, it was his eyebrow - a trick he'd stolen from Snape. When he'd successfully intervened in her attempt to cause the twins to lose all their dignity... the eyebrow said that pressing her case anybit more would lead to a war. And Slytherins naturally avoided wars.


	82. Draco Malfoy with Blue Hair

The problem with getting hexed by Madame Parkinson was that she specialized in making her hexes hard to remove. This one, say, would stay on for seven days.

Draco Malfoy had been invited places in the next seven days, and he was not attending when any shred of his hair was hideous, hideous _orange_.*

So, he spun through about three household charms books (because no way was he showing his mother his current couture, she might die of suppressed laughter).

And then he thought of something, "Batty!"

And Batty The House Elf appeared. "Yes, Draco Sir?"

"How many times do I have to tell you? One or the other, I'm not a bloody medieval knight."

"Yes, Draco sir!" Batty said.

"Tell me, do you have any recommendations as to how I can fix my hair?"

Batty clapped her hands together, and said, "Boy, do I ever!" _Great, now I'm getting lip from my own house elves._

"How long will fixing it take?"

"Three shakes of a lamb's tail."

"Then do it." Draco Malfoy said, a sense of disquiet in his belly for absolutely no reason. Draco felt a wave of magic pass over him, and then he looked at his image in the mirror Batty had conjured off a distant wall. Draco Malfoy's hair was blue. Not grayish blue, but a tony steel-dark blue**. Oddly enough, he looked good in it... And hadn't he complained earlier about looking too washed out.

That put paid to that. He was keeping it.

"Thank you, Batty, I'd never have thought of the color, but it looks excellent." Draco Malfoy said the compliment entirely sincerely, as he turned away to dress for dinner at the Weasleys. He failed to see Batty grinning like a fool. She had done Well!

[a/n: Batty's Secret dream: to be a cosmetologist.

Reviews will have me writing more, I promise. More on this story, and not the seven others I update on the regular.]

*he truly does look bad with it. it washes him out, and he wasn't colorful to begin with. The "Oh, are you _dying_ " look doesn't suit him.

**gunmetal blue.


	83. To the Victor!

Draco Malfoy had arranged to meet with the twins before showing up at the Burrow. It had seemed appropriate, and would mostly save him from walking in awkwardly during a story - or having the same story told three times in the same gathering. Either was unsuitable to someone of his refined sophistication. His mother would die of despair if he was such a boorish lout.

They arrived at the last - not ten minutes late, but ten minutes before supper.

They also arrived in a cloud of fuscia smoke. Ron ran to open the windows.

As they arrived, Arthur Weasley stood up. He slowly began to clap, and everyone began sticking their heads into the dining room, and the entire room dissolved into a ruckus that Draco only thought he had expected. It was far more convoluted, crowded, and involved unidentified portions of the anatomy of dozens of Weasleys touching him.

It was, all in all, a rather hearty welcome, although it did leave Draco with the sudden desire to stand in a corner for the rest of the evening and plot something disgustingly boring with Percy Weasley. Probably involving cauldron-bottoms. Poor lad was wasted on such assignments, but as Draco Malfoy was NOT his father, Percy would have to find his own way out.

After all the embraces (wet sloppy and warm), they sat down to eat (nicely timed, it took ten minutes to accomplish, meaning the food was just done. The Twins had an apparently latent sense of punctuality. Or maybe they just knew how to not stage an unwelcomely flashy entrance).

The twins regaled the table with what they'd planned, and how it'd gone off. They had just gotten to the part about slamming a pie in Narcissa Malfoy's face, and Malfoy was smirking.

"Mal-foy..." Hermione Granger asked carefully, "Did you plan on them doing that?"

"Naturally," He said, falling back on the ol' Malfoy charm.**

"Un-be-lievable!" Hermione snapped, crossing her arms.

"Rather the point, yes." Malfoy said, smiling. "Madame Parkinson took the bait."

"Oh, was that why-?" The twins said, launching into a lengthy description of the Parkinson Dragon.

"She was about to cast something on the both of us, when Malfoy stepped in front."

Harry perked up, asking, "Is that why your hair is blue?"

"No, Potter," Malfoy said, "She was so busy trying to embarrass them as she'd been embarrassed, that she didn't realize that Weasleys don't embarrass." The laughter at the table was heartening, and Malfoy continued, "Madame Parkinson has two flaws: she doesn't have a sense of humor to speak of, and she can't stand being made a fool. I took that spell because if she'd realized how utterly her revenge had failed, she'd have cast something that _everyone_ would regret." Malfoy lifted his glass of red, and gestured at Potter, saying, "Most of all you, Potter."

"Why me?" Harry asked, baffled.

"She'd have cast something worthy of going to Azkaban."

"We're surprised you didn't send her to Azkaban yourself, Malfoy."

"Yeah, after that spell she cast..."

"Crimes of fashion aren't prosecutable in a court of law." Malfoy said with a smirk, "She'd turned my hair a frightful rainbow of colors, from magenta to brilliant orange, and practically everything in between."

"Any way we can get her to teach us that spell?" The twins asked.

"No, but if you'll give a free interview, I think Pansy might be able to find it." Malfoy said with a smile.

**Hermione would term this the Old Malfoy Arrogance. She's righter than he is.

[reviews make me write more!]


	84. Rollicking Good Time

Draco Malfoy had a generally good time at the Weasley Household (yes, they really did refer to the place as the Burrow. Considering they bred like rabbits, it seemed appropriate). There was a general air of roughhousing around the place that Draco Malfoy had never experienced in his life, and the first time hadn't really been able to relax around. Now that he knew what was going on, he could get a bit more comfortable. It helped that steering near Percy or Granger was likely to keep most of the tackles at bay.

As he was leaving, Harry Potter stepped beside him, saying as they walked out the door, "It's a good thing Snape wasn't here."

"Oh?" Draco Malfoy asked, aware that his godfather was generally difficult to get out of his Potions Lab. Moreso now that he didn't have class to teach. He'd loathed that so much that Lucius had often gotten him drunk on a schoolnight. Which hadn't helped his disposition the next day, oh no. That'd ceased happening as soon as Potter had entered Hogwarts, but Draco hadn't put the pieces together because he wasn't home to observe his father.

"Yeah, I think Snape's allergic to good cheer."

They both laughed at that one, and Draco Malfoy had to acknowledge the essential truth of it. Snape could, and did, find his own amusements, but they were personal things, and not what he liked to share with others. It took a certain sort of openness to share your happiness...

[a/n: Done with the Dinner! Yay!

Reviews are appreciated, so very very much!]


	85. Fun at the Office

Draco Malfoy showed up to the Ministry, as usual, earlier than anyone else. He had to have Granger's coffee ready, after all. That wasn't the problem, nor was the two hours of peaceful organization and letter-writing that they did before everyone else got there. They both seemed tired, and quiet, and Malfoy was glad that Granger didn't want to quarrel, for once. Likewise, Granger was glad that Malfoy was not starting trouble they both didn't want.

That all changed when the Purebloods started breezing in. Apparently, wrecking havoc at his Mum's Garden Party was enough to sway people who wanted to believe he wasn't his father. Given his father's sense of humor, he was all for that belief.

Unfortunately, Granger was rather of the opinion that their ideals, their work, and dedication ought to be judged, not simply "Who We Are." So as more people stopped in to pledge tentative agreement on 'whatever Malfoy was working on' (He didn't believe for a second that most of the Wizengamot knew about Werewolf Rights, and he fully expected some to retract their word).

But, for the moment, Malfoy relished the success.

"I just don't get why Rufus was so happy to sign on." Hermione Granger said in consternation.

"Apparently a pie in Madame Parkinson's face is enough to show people I'm more Black than Malfoy," Draco responded with a mirthless grin. "So, cheers," he flourished his coffee, "To the Victor go the Spoils!"

"You're certainly spoiled enough," Hermione ground out.

Malfoy nearly fell over (he'd been balancing on the back legs of his chair), and hurriedly flopped forward, "She does have a sense of humor! She does! O, frabjous joy! I'm rubbing off on her already!"

"You'd better not be rubbing off on my girlfriend," Ron Weasley said from the doorway, and Malfoy looked alarmed, before he belatedly decoded the lack of anger in the redhead's voice.

[a/n: Ron's really got little problem with Malfoy about now. It's hermione who has to deal with him. Leave a review?]


	86. Gullible

For Hermione, Tuesday morning passed in a blur of writing and collating - Malfoy was beside her, working, getting his fingertips as inkstained as she did. If there was one thing she could admire about him, it was that he did so without complaint. She was so used to both Harry and Ron, who would slack if you didn't chase after them. Slack even on the job, occasional like.

Malfoy didn't seem to know the meaning of relaxing. Hermione appreciated that. Sure, he might be up to something, probably was... but Hermione'd been in over her neck with work, so anyone who was competent enough to help her get it sorted was ... well, she'd say something nice, but Malfoy was hiding something from her, _again_. Runes that danced in front of her eyes whenever she laid eyes on it.

"Malfoy, what the hell are you working on? It's lunch, relax already," Hermione spat, sounding like a cross McGonagall.

"Can't tell you." Malfoy said in a singsong manner.

And that was that. Hermione had her wand drawn and at his throat in a moment.

His gray eyes looked up at her, and he gulped. "Can't or won't?" Hermione growled.

Malfoy attempted to straighten up and look less blatantly afraid. This was made significantly more difficult by the wand at his neck. "Can't, I'm afraid." Malfoy smirked, and said, "Nondisclosure agreement. Complete confidentiality, I'm sure you understand."

Hermione did understand. That didn't stop her from wanting to throw him into a wall.

She withdrew her wand, looking down at him for a long moment. "What's your mother planning?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you first." Malfoy said. "There's half a dozen different schemes it could be, and I'm probably missing most of the plot."

"Tell me," Hermione said suddenly, her eyes sparkling with that "Answers!" greed.

"You could be an amuse bouche," Malfoy responded promptly, "Something to amuse her foxhunting friends. A trifle and a dalliance." Granger's face darkened at this.

"Or it could be a more complicated move. You're rather famous, you realize?" Malfoy said, looking smug.

"What do you mean?"

"She could be trying to have some of your glory rub off onto her." Malfoy said, frowning, "Or making a broader statement on the New Politics..."

"So she'd be befriending me because I was a Muggleborn?" Hermione said stoutly.

"Well, it could be that, or she could be merely being supportive of a War Heroine."

"What else?" Hermione Granger said, somehow certain that Malfoy was leaving something out.

"She could be... tryingtosetusup." Malfoy said, his eyes flicking to her feet as his mouth flew over the last few syllables.

Hermione Granger began to chortle, her deep belly laugh making her hair jump and quiver. "She does realize I have a boyfriend, right?"

"She does," Malfoy said sternly.

"And what about Pansy?" Granger stated, and Malfoy gave her the most dumbfounded stare.

"Oh. You thought - think- Pansy and me?" Malfoy said, starting to laugh so hard that tears were rolling down his face, "Gods! we haven't been an item since fifth year!"

[a/n: Oh, so many reasons. Can you come up with some? Betcha won't guess the right one. I'll be lenient even. Leave a review!]

[a/n: Malfoy's smug superiority is deserved, in this case. He devised the NDA after all.]


	87. Skipping

It had never felt right for Hermione to skip out on work. Her friends would do it- often without a care in the world, but she'd never felt right about that. Draco Malfoy looked up at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, "Smile while you do it." he said in that casual drawl of his.

"What?" Hermione said, a bit baffled by whatever he was saying.

"If you're going to kill her, do it with a smile," Malfoy said, lifting his eyes off the paper and smirking at her.

"Thanks for the advice" she said curtly.

Malfoy eyed her up and down, looking at the pantsuit she was wearing, "It'll work, don't mess with your hair."

Hermione had to physically restrain herself from tugging at her hair. And then it was time.

Hermione flooed into the stables, coming out nearly into Narcissa Malfoy's arms.

Narcissa seemed delighted to see her - she smiled broadly, as if she was a cat with canary feathers still sticking out of her mouth. "Hermione, dear, Welcome!"

Hermione ground her teeth, "Charmed. Did you really invite me here to hunt an innocent fox? You do realize that isn't exactly a fair match, don't you?" She said, her hands on her hips.

"Oh!" Narcissa Malfoy laughed, a silvery fountain of crystal notes, "You haven't been introduced. Come along now!"

Hermione opened her mouth, ready to dig in her heels and say something more overtly rude.

"No complaining now, it isn't polite. Introductions first, then complaints!" Narcissa Malfoy said merrily, and Hermione could feel the sudden wiry strength in the birdlike woman. Suddenly stopping didn't seem quite so easy.

Narcissa stepped outside, towards the paddock where frisky horses were gamboling in the crisp breeze. "Shanti!" she called, and Hermione heard a noise above their heads. She glanced upwards, catching only a swift motion falling from the tree above her head. Her eyes instinctively tracked it, and she was dropping into a combat stance automatically - hiding behind Narcissa as she drew her wand.

"Oh, I didn't mean to scare you," Narcissa said, but her smile was far more predatory, "I thought Gryffindors didn't scare easy. Silly me." She tittered, as Hermione finally got a look at the person standing behind her.

Asian, with a pale Japanese face and a pointed chin, and black eyes that sparkled. "Who's this?" She stated without preamble.

"Your latest challenge," Narcissa said, facing Shanti.

"Knows the ground better than the steed, I'd wager."

"Wagering against you isn't the point, Shanti!" Narcissa said, smiling.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Shanti, this is Hermione Granger."

"Hermione, This is your 'quarry.' I trust she'll be enough of a challenge for us all." Narcissa said, smiling.

In an eyeblink, there was a pretty red twin-tailed fox sitting where Shanti used to be. "Just, don't call her cute." Narcissa said, frowning slightly. "she _hates_ that."

"A Kitsune," Hermione said, her words coming out as softer than a whisper. "I never dreamed I'd ever see one."

"Our family has offered her sanctuary for a couple of generations." Narcissa Malfoy said, "And she does like some exercise, now and again."

"I can't wait!" Hermione said, already looking forward to chasing a shapechanger. Even astride a great big beast like a horse, it would be enthralling.

[a/n: Originally this called for Hermione being much more of a positive asshole about the whole thing, but Narcissa is apparently a better manager of pissedoff people than I gave her credit for.

Leave a review?]


End file.
